


Days of Wine and Sunflowers

by Seldarius



Series: Phryniverse [5]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/F, F/M, Phrack wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-08 20:12:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 116,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18630469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seldarius/pseuds/Seldarius
Summary: When the Fisher Clan packs up to join the Robinsons for their annual family meeting in the country, tensions run high despite the romantic backdrop of Daylesford. But Phryne can't have a holiday without a murder and when the body of a young woman disappears from a locked room, leaving an entanglement of secrets behind, the two families have to join forces to solve the mystery.





	1. Teatree

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing to copy over old fics from ff. This one was originally posted between 11/03/2014 and 21/04/2014.

The Honourable Phryne Fisher was woken by a pair of lips gently kissing the nape of her neck. She shivered slightly in the cool morning breeze and snuggled closer into the warm body in her back, without opening her eyes. The warm arm holding her, curled around her tighter, when Jack noticed her stirring.

“Good morning, Mrs. Robinson,” he teased, pressing a kiss to her ear.

“We are not quite there yet,” she grumbled in her state of half-sleep, which however did not stop the Inspector in the slightest. His fingers trailed along her arm in a gesture, that they both knew she wouldn't be able to resist for long.

“No, but you will be. Eventually.”

There was such a cheeky smile in his voice that she shifted and finally pried her eyes open.

“That is true, Lord Robinson. We have to set a date first though.”

Deep creases appeared on his forehead, and Miss Fisher couldn't resist extending her fingers in an effort to melt them away.

“You are aware that I will not take on your title, Miss Fisher?” he finally concluded, not even trying to hide his relief.

“No, you won't. But I wonder how many people will remember that, when you are the husband of a Baroness one day?” Phryne grinned, cuddling back against him. Inspector Robinson stayed silent at this, pondering her words with some awe. He had never actually thought about Miss Fisher being the heiress of a noble family. Well, of course, he had known that she was the daughter of a Baron, it had been one of the many things that had intimidated him about her to start with. But the closer they had become, the less it all seemed to matter. She was Miss Phryne Fisher and Honourable only, when she needed the title as a weapon to get through a door otherwise closed to her. A cold wind picking up, brought him back into the reality of the moment and he looked down at his lover, still curled against him and seemingly having gone back to sleep.

“Phryne, I'm sorry, but I think we might want to head inside,” he urged.

Reluctantly Miss Fisher let go of his warm, naked chest and followed the direction of his eyes to a grey sky above their heads. When had that happened? She was quite sure that it had been brooding hot just yesterday. But then, she couldn't really recall a lot about the last few days. After they had chased a serial-killer through Melbourne which had left both of them injured and drained, Jack had decided that it was time to take a step back and had allowed Doctor Mac to declare him unfit for duty while the heat wave rendered crime in the city minimal. The deep wound on his leg, that a confrontation with the murderer had left him with, was healing only slowly, not least due to several occasions where he had to run after fleeing suspects; and Deputy-Commissioner Fredrik had been only too happy to grant the stubborn DI a generous amount of sick leave, after he had ended two killing sprees and saved Commissioner Sanderson's daughter from being shot in her father's absence, which might have put quite a dent into his career. Jack had kept the fact to himself that the latter was mostly due to Miss Fisher's involvement.

Instead the Inspector had grasped Phryne's hand and taken her up to the rooftop, where they had spent their time under the stars every night since the one in which he had asked her to become his wife. Up here, the heat was bearable, even though they didn't sleep much. Jack Robinson would have liked to pretend that he had been making love to her all through the hours of the night, but the truth was, he was not twenty anymore and they were mostly talking, cuddled up together in the light of candles and moon. Phryne had also taken a liking to reading crime novels to him, by a rising writer called Agatha Christie. After his first astonishment, Inspector Robinson found this ritual rather amusing and utterly intimate. They had also, of course, made love more often than he could count. He was not that old after all and keeping his hands of Phryne was a challenge he lost more often than he cared to admit. So in retrospect, the last few weeks were a blur of good food, warm skin and plenty of intriguing crime-plots, none of them in which either of them were involved. And while a part of Jack missed the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the bigger one felt like a contented tom-cat that had spent an afternoon lying in the sun with its limbs outstretched, unwilling to ever move again. But now there was rain clouds balling up over their heads and that was likely the end of their summer. He couldn't help the stab of disappointment in his chest.

Warm lips on his pulled him gently back from his pondering.

“Stop thinking, Jack,” Phryne urged, “you are getting wrinkles.” Before he could utter a word of protest, she kissed him again. His arms wrapped around her warm, white back without asking him for permission as the tension melted away. So maybe their summer of leisure was over. There would be other seasons. While he fell into her touch, her warm hands roaming his body, chasing any remainder of sleep away, a part of him realised, that they were still up on the rooftop, exposed to nature. He pulled himself to a sitting position but the intent drowned in the heat racing through his loins, as Phryne's searching mouth found one of his nipples. He gasped, throwing his head back, a fact that she used to her advantage and attacked the tender skin she knew to find on his neck. Jack held on long enough to a rest of sanity to pull her on top of himself. Wrapping her arms around her, as if to protect her naked back from the biting wind, he locked their eyes as he moved his hips. Her lashes fluttered shut briefly. Their lips found each other somewhere in the slow rhythm they built between themselves.

The first raindrop splashed onto Phryne's cheek seconds later. Jack wiped it away, before kissing her again. Her warm breasts were pressed against his chest in their tight embrace, her eyes were nearly black with desire. Watching her was almost more breathtaking than the fireworks going off in his own body. Almost.

The next raindrops hit his back, his arms, fell into her hair. Neither of them stopped, they were too enthralled in each other to care. Their lips hardly moved far enough from each other to breath. Hot air ghosted over Phryne's face as she pressed herself against her lover, let her lust wash her away. She too knew, that it would be the last time in their summer together, but it didn't matter. They had a lifetime in front of them to enjoy this and all other pleasures of life in every way they could think of. She watched Jack's eyes grow darker, his breath heavier. Rain was pelting down on them by now, sizzling on their heated skin. Her soft fingers ran through his wet hair, pulling him in for another breathless kiss. Jack Robinson was hers and soon he would be her husband. They had plenty of summers ahead of them. But for now there was just the rain showering them with big, warm drops and covering two heated, wet bodies entangled in something that was pretty close to heaven.

 

X

 

Mr. Butler had given up a long time ago on wondering about the state of Miss Fisher and the Inspector, when they snuck through the house. He had been a servant for a long time. He recognised the sparkle in Miss Fisher's eyes and the way Detective-Inspector Robinson's hands just moved a little giddier when he prepared his own toast in the morning. Mr. Butler had also come across enough torn clothes, crumpled sheets and broken inventory to be quite aware that his Mistress didn't limit her recreational activities to the night time or her bedroom. He wasn't worried about either of it. In fact, quite the opposite. That Miss Fisher and her Inspector were enjoying themselves, gave him a deep, satisfied calmness and the ring that silently sparkled on her finger nowadays intensified his hopes that Jack Robinson was here to stay. It had taken his Mistress long enough to figure it out after all. Yet, he was a little worried, when the rain started. At the time, he was tidying up the bedrooms, a task that was currently rather boring, as they were hardly used, when he noticed the drop starting to splash against the windows. He resisted the urge to head up to the rooftop. Surely, they could not have missed being drenched, so there was really only one explanation for their absence – they did not care. Whistling under his breath, he finished off Miss Fisher's room and was on his way to the Inspector's, when the roof door flew open and two soaked, but laughing people burst through it.

“Good morning, Mr. Butler.” Miss Fisher greeted, while the Inspector blushed furiously, but was pulled into her bedroom by the hand, before he had a chance to extend any more than a small greeting with the servant. Mr. Butler grinned and headed on to Jack Robinson's sanctuary. He was quite sure, it wouldn't be needed at this stage.

 

X

 

An hour later, Phryne settled with her mail in the parlour. She used to do this in her office, but the truth was, nowadays she seemed to enjoy Jack's quiet presence while she went through her paperwork. That and the heat had been most bearable in this room for the last weeks, a problem that was currently rather solved by the look of the floods that were still coming down onto their house. A thunderstorm had joined in, tearing the grey sky apart with flashes of lightning. Jack had slipped onto the piano stool, resting his remaining teacup on top of the instrument, a habit, that would have brought down the wrath of his piano teacher on him, but didn't bother Phryne in the slightest. He was playing something that she didn't recognise but was mixing with the rain into a beautiful background noise. Miss Fisher sifted through her letters, fishing the important ones out and keeping them for last. There were a few proposed cases, none of them interesting her.

“This one's for you, Jack,” she stated, handing him an expensive looking envelope. His music trailed off, as he grabbed for it, while Phryne curiously stood beside him.

“Uncle Walter,” he said, on inspecting the address. “Probably trying to talk me into travelling up to Daylesford for our family meeting, yet again.”

“Why don't you?” Phryne asked teasingly.

“Why don't I what?” Jack responded, returning to his music. He hadn't played this much in years as he had in the last few weeks. It was as if Miss Fisher opened up all the dams in his head. A single experience with her lead inevitable to him not being able to stop himself.

“Go and see your family?”

She settled back down into her chair, watching him.

“You know, why I don't want to see my family,” Jack said quietly. She did. She had heard him argue with his cousin Iris about his withdrawal from the Robinson's after having had a falling out with his father about living under a roof with an unmarried woman.

“True. But things have changed, haven't they?”

He looked up at that. She smiled.

“We are getting married, Jack. There is nothing 'immoral' about us anymore,” she grinned. “Well maybe beside this morning's episode, but we don't have to share that.”

Jack Robinson smiled at that, picking up the piece again. This time, it dawned on Phryne just what he was playing. It was Chopin's 'Raindrops'. She got up to press a kiss to his head, which he accepted with closed eyes and snuck her arms around his shoulders.

“So we are going?” She asked, in a pause. His hands stilled.

“We?”

“Of course we. You can't leave your fiancée behind in Melbourne while you roam the countryside alone, that would be highly immoral, Inspector. I am also dying to meet your family that you have so successfully hidden from me for the last two years.“

Jack didn't point out that her first meeting with Iris hadn't been a particularly pleasant one. His cousin had taken his half-hearted attempt to cut her out of his life personally and lashed out at his supposed dalliance with the rich Miss Fisher. This had briefly endangered his relationship with both women. Luckily they had formed some kind of peace treaty in his absence, but a further meeting between them could certainly get interesting. He didn't even want to think about his father and his prejudices. Miss Fisher didn't seem particularly worried about this however, as she had retreated from him to dig further through her letters.

“Mr. Goldner is enquiring for a date to meet you, Jack.”

The Inspector turned to her.

“Whatever for?”

“We talked about this, Jack. I intend to add your name to all of my paperwork before we get married. You will need to find your way into my finances.”

Jack nodded grimly. She smiled, slipping onto the stool beside him. He made room for her.

“Oh, don't look like he is going to behead you. I am an incredibly rich woman, Jack, and therefore you will be an incredibly rich man once you become my husband. You better get used to it.”

He stayed silent and looked for a moment as if he was going to play again but instead sighed miserably. She wondered why this bothered him so much. Was it an underlying form of classism? He turned, opening his lips, obviously looking for words.

“Phryne? You don't think I'm marrying you for your riches, do you?”

Her mouth stood agape for a moment at this, then her face turned into a mask of disbelief.

“I am pretty sure that to count as a gold digger, you actually have to be interested in money, Jack.”

He smiled a tiny smile at that, but his brows were still knitted, convincing Miss Fisher that he was actually worrying about this strange idea.

“I believe you are marrying me for one reason and one reason only, Jack.”

“And what is that?”

“That you are too utterly smitten with me to resist the urge to drag me to the altar kicking and screaming.”

Jack Robinson smiled, this time genuine and relieved, despite not pointing out how close her teasing remark was to the truth.

“So, why are you marrying me then, Miss Fisher?” he asked.

“Well, that's obvious, Inspector.” She prompted. “For your riches of course.”

She winked, opening the last letter, while he raised his fingers and drew a few tentative notes from the piano. The thoughtful creases on her face made him stop his attempts.

“Bad news?” He asked.

“The opposite really. But I might not be able to join you in Daylesford after all.”

Jack tried to hide his relief by rescuing his cup of tea from the top of the piano and draining it. But Miss Fisher seemed to be taken over by a giddy form of excitement.

“Our daughter is coming home next week.”

He almost drowned.

 


	2. Bougainvillea

When the Inspector ceased to cough and splutter, he found himself being watched intently by Miss Fisher in silent amusement.

“I hope you are talking about Jane,” he finally brought out, still sounding hoarse, “Or are there any other children I should know about, Miss Fisher?”

“None that I am aware of, Inspector.”

“Well that's a relief.”

He didn't look relieved though, Miss Fisher found. Instead he was staring out into the rain that was still pouring down the windows of the parlour. She couldn't have described the expression on his face, but it worried her. She touched his shoulder, which made him turn around to face her. There was a tear glittering in his eye, that she hadn't expected.

“Jack? You are aware, that Jane will be your legal ward, once we are married?”

He lowered his eyes for a moment, clearing his throat loudly.

“Yes, yes of course.”

Phryne cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at her. She was suddenly deeply unsettled. She had always felt that Jane and the Inspector were fond of each other in a quiet way that didn't need any expression and the letters she had shared with Jane since Jack had moved into their family home, had spoken just that language on the side of her foster daughter. That she was happy for Phryne to have found a love in the Inspector. In fact, she had expressed this a lot more cheekily, but that was beside the point. Phryne had never actually confronted Jack with the little detail that she had a daughter floating around in Europe, who would eventually return and be part of their family life. That might have been a mistake. He looked deeply upset right now, and Phryne was frightened when he opened his mouth. She loved him, but she could not ever let go of Jane. Not even for him.

“I just never thought I'd have a daughter,” Jack whispered tonelessly, causing her breath to hitch in her chest.

“You know, she's almost grown up nowadays,” Phryne joked, her throat tightening at the tears filling his eyes.

“Yes, but... Does she know we are engaged?” Jack asked.

“I sent her a letter the very next day,” Phryne smiled, “But you know how long mail takes to find it's way to France.”

He nodded slowly, wringing his hands. So he was anxious. Phryne reached out her fingers to still his.

“Jack, there has not been a single bad word about you from Jane's lips. Please stop worrying. She will be as happy as anyone else, that we are making this step.”

The Inspector thought of his family, his father's words: “Don't you dare, ever bringing this woman into my house.” He nodded, his jaw clenched. Maybe not everyone. Jack buried his face in both hands, then got up rather stiffly. He needed to be alone for a while, sort through the emotions that were currently racing through his veins. A daughter. The thought made him smile and wanting to curl up in dread at the same time. Jane was a teenager, who had been through the wringer repeatedly in her life. Accepting Miss Fisher as her guardian was one thing, but how would she feel about being forced to live under a roof with him, he wondered, let alone having him as her foster father? He was still berating himself for not having thought through all the implications in his longing to make Phryne his wife, when he heard a knock at the door. The voice that greeted Mr. Butler was vaguely familiar, even though it currently blabbed something that exceeded his own French. Miss Fisher had jumped up, running into the hall.

“Jane! We didn't expect you till next week!”

Mother and daughter were curled up in a tight embrace, when Jack stepped into the door of the parlour, staring at them nervously.

“Je voulais vous surprendre,” the girl blurted out.

“Well, you have succeeded in surprising us,” Phryne smiled, “I think Jack more than anyone by the look of it.” She turned to see her fiancé still standing rooted to the spot. He was pale and she almost felt sorry for him. “In fact we were just talking about you this minute,” Miss Fisher smiled, still looking at Jack with an expression that made clear that she expected him to play along, no matter what currently happened in his brain. “About how much we looked forward to seeing you again.”

The Inspector managed a smile, but Jane's attention was at present drawn in by something else. She stared at Phryne's hand that had waved in the air pointing at Jack. Jane grabbed it, having a closer look at the ring wrapped around Miss Fisher's finger obviously and tellingly. Then she turned to the Inspector.

“No, you haven't!?”

He gulped.

“I'm afraid I have.”

She turned to her guardian.

“And you said 'yes'?”

Miss Fisher nodded, suddenly nervous herself. Then a squeal broke through the silence of the house, as Jane hugged her mother. Seconds later, Jack found himself in the tight embrace of a very enthusiastic teenager. It took him a moment to realise what had just happened, then he allowed himself to hug the girl to his chest. He had just gained a daughter. The thought caused a warm fuzzy feeling somewhere in the pit of his stomach. When he opened his eyes, Phryne was watching them with soft, tender eyes. He gently peeled Jane from himself, holding her at arms length to look at her. She had grown a bit taller or maybe she had just turned a bit more into a woman since the last time he had seen her. Soon he would have to start fending off boys with a stick, Jack realised. The idea didn't bother him as much as it should have.

“So tell me, how did you propose?” she babbled on, as she grabbed both adults by the hand and dragged them into the kitchen, where Mr. Butler had started to prepare a late morning tea. Jack shared a look with Phryne, realising, that he could not tell her ward about the fact that he had popped the question spontaneously and stark naked in the aftermaths of lovemaking, before his heart rate had had a chance to slow down.

“It was on the rooftop, under the stars,” he finally admitted the truth as far as he deemed it suitable to share with a teenager.

“Ohhhh, that sounds very romantic.” Jane stated, having a closer inspection of the ring.

“It was,” Phryne smiled, grasping Jack's hand with the fingers currently not occupied by her foster daughter.

“I'm still somewhat surprised you said 'yes' though,” Jane admitted with a frown.

“So was I,” Jack grinned truthfully. Miss Fisher shot him a look that could have killed on the spot, if it hadn't been somewhat softened by the happiness she felt. She hadn't quite realised, how tense she herself had been about Jane finding Jack in the position of her future husband, rather than a family friend.

“Well, I'm glad I can still surprise people,” Phryne pouted, pulling both her hands back to grab a sandwich from a platter that had magically appeared on the table.

“Now tell me all your adventures. I want to hear details.” She prompted, completely forgetting to sulk. And so, three people sat down on a kitchen table, sharing their adventures over tea and sandwiches. Laughter and chatter filled the small kitchen as Mr. Butler silently pulled the door shut and retreated. Sometimes a family needed time to themselves.

 

X

 

A blue sky hung over the branches of beautiful old trees, only decorated with a few tiny clouds. Bees hummed in the air, content with the variety of flowers on offer in this quiet part of the garden. Lavender was all good and well, but occasionally, even a bee needed a change of scenery. In the shadow of the oaks and acorn, silence was spread over the hidden little garden like a comfortable blanket. It was interrupted rudely by a strawberry blonde woman racing out of the door, a man hot on her heels. Underneath a pergola, overgrown with vines that currently flowered in a rather tacky shade of pink, he caught up to her. He grabbed her arm and spun her, but if the woman was intimidated by the man who towered over her, she didn't show it.

“You don't seriously think, I will forget about this!” she spat, “Pretend I didn't see, what you've done? You're delusional!”

The man locked his arms in front of his chest, smiling in a way that made even the bees fly avoid him.

“Nobody will believe you.”

“We shall see about that,” the woman panted, stalking off. The man watched until she turned the corner, then he swore under his breath and walked off in the opposite direction. They would see about that. Indeed they would.

 

X

 

 

Jane was just describing her first trip with the London Underground in vivid colours, when Mr. Butler, who was busy polishing silver in the dining room with a traitorous smile on his face, was called to the hall by an enthusiastic knock.

“Is my niece at home?” Mrs. Stanley asked, pushing past the servant without so much as a greeting.

“Miss Fisher is currently in the kitchen with...”

Mr. Butler trailed off, when he realised the absence of anyone listening. Mrs. Stanley had stormed past him into the dining room and was currently ripping open the kitchen door.

“Phryne, I have to talk to-”

Prudence Stanley had raised two sons of her own. It was hard to put her off her stride, especially when she was angry. Yet, she stood with her mouth open, staring at the harmonious scene that greeted her at the kitchen table in awe.

“Bonjour, tante Prudence,” grinned Jane, the first to catch her breath.

“Jane?! You're back. How lovely.”

Phryne could see the wheels in her aunt's head turning. She almost, but not quite, felt sorry for her.

“Aunt Prudence! How nice of you to drop by. Would you like a cup of tea?”

If Miss Fisher's smile was insincere, Mrs. Stanley's was an outright lie.

“Actually, Phryne, could I talk to you a moment in private?” Aunt Prudence asked, dabbing her sweaty forehead with a lacy handkerchief.

“Of course. Please excuse me.”

Miss Fisher winked to the Inspector, who sat silently, but had obvious troubles hiding a smile. Jane had no such hang-ups, she was already chattering again, before the door had fallen shut behind the two women.

“Shall we go into the parlour? It's more private there,” Phryne offered, leading the way. She offered a drink, which was with strained politeness refused and held on to her smile tightly. Needling Aunt Prudence was just too much fun to resist. Finally, she sank into an armchair.

“What would you like to talk about?”

“How long has Jane been back?” Her aunt asked instead of anweing while still standing. Miss Fisher made a show of inspecting her golden watch.

“Exactly two hours and 13 minutes,” she finally stated calmly. Mrs. Stanley sank into a chair, again grabbing for her handkerchief.

“And you did not feel the need to tell me she was returning from Europe? I might have liked to see her,” she said stiffly. Miss Fisher nonchalantly slipped to her feet, pouring herself a glass of water.

“I'm afraid my daughter did not announce herself. She took an earlier ship to surprise us. Therefore, my dear Aunt P, I had no chance to let you know.”

Mrs. Stanley swallowed at this, nodding slightly.

“But I assume you did pay us a visit hoping to find Jane unexpectedly sitting in my kitchen. So why did you come, if you don't mind me asking?”

Phryne fell back into her chair, taking a calm sip of water, watching her Aunt work herself into a state. It was too easy. Miss Fisher had a fair idea what had brought the lady here. She might have forgotten to tell her some things and society had it's own ears and mouths. Plenty of both in fact.

“You seem to lately be in a habit of not sharing things with me, Phryne.” Mrs. Stanley finally said, as expected. “I hear you have gotten engaged?! Is it true?”

“That I will not deny.” Phryne smiled. Another sip. Another use of the handkerchief. Too easy and way too much fun.

“To that Inspector of yours?” Mrs. Stanley enquired, her feathers ruffled.

“To whom else, Aunt Prudence?” Phryne said sweetly, while she silently got ready for a fight. She would not have her aunt insult Jack in his home. No matter how much she thought herself above him. But there was silence for a long moment that was filled in only by the rain.

“While I welcome your choice to finally settle down, Phryne, I must say that I am surprised. I had not expected this to be quite so serious.”

Miss Fisher briefly remembered, why she actually did like her aunt, despite her sometimes rather spiky exterior. The feeling was quickly diminished however, with the next sentence.

“What do you even know about the man? Have you met his family?”

Phryne smiled coldly.

“I doubt, that it is necessary to know more about the man I have shared my bed with for a long time, Aunt Prudence.”

Mrs. Stanley blushed at the obvious hint at premarital intimacy.

“However, if it calms your nerves, be assured, I have every intention of meeting my in-laws in the very near future. In fact, I believe, we are invited to Daylesford next week.”

She waved the still closed letter that Jack had left on the table. Aunt Prudence, who had a particular liking for the secrets of other people, took it, running her eyes curiously over the address. Then she paled, which made for an interesting contrast with the still glowing cheeks.

“Your Inspector is a Cox-Stafford?”

Miss Fisher forgot the angry words that had been lying on her tongue already in defense of 'her Inspector'. She knew, that the family of Jack's mother had some land around Daylesford and she was also a good enough detective to realise that the letters that occasionally arrived at her home were not written on cheap paper. Yet, Aunt Prudence recognising the family was a somewhat awkward twist of events. She did her hardest to not show her surprise.

“Jack is a _Robinson_.” She explained calmly. “His mother however was the daughter of an old Daylesford family.”

“Phryne, do you have the slightest idea, who you are marrying?”

Miss Fisher rolled her eyes. It really did not matter to her at all, if Jack's family had blue, green or purple blood flowing in their veins or if they had sometime in the 1800 shaken hands with the stable master of the Queen himself. Neither was she interested, if his great-great-great-uncle had sat in prison for stealing a duke's chamber pot or his grandmother sold fish on the market. Jack was Jack and while she was more than curious about his family, it would not change who he was to her. Oblivious to this, Mrs. Stanley had started babbling about the long history of the family, Anna Robinson had sprouted from. Miss Fisher wondered dimly if she should advise her aunt to write a book on the various dramas of the Australian upper classes. She was so busy pondering this question, that she had almost missed it.

“Pardon me?” she asked. She must have misheard.

“It is settled, Phryne. I can absolutely not let you marry into a family without forming my personal opinion. I will take up their invitation and join you in Daylesford.”   
“Aunt Prudence, I am quite sure, the invitation was not addressed to you.”

Miss Fisher didn't point out the fact, that it likely wasn't even addressed to herself – She wasn't even certain, if Jack's uncle knew about her existence. Regardless he definitely didn't need her Aunt storming through the halls of his country estate, looking for trouble. But Mrs. Stanley had already gotten to her feet.

“I'm certain, they will understand my concern about your person, Phryne. Surely, they are equally worried about the family the Inspector is marrying into. So, we will show them our best side. I will go home now and arrange things and speak to you tomorrow.”

With little consideration to Phryne's current state of speechless silence, she got to her feet. The door fell shut, before Miss Fisher had come up with a response.

 


	3. Beech

Both, the Inspector and Jane looked up, when Miss Fisher wandered back into the kitchen, grabbing the cup with her now cold tea, without sitting down.

“Jack was just telling me about the man who broke in, just to get a love poem back,” her daughter informed her. Miss Fisher smiled. So, he was 'Jack' already. It was astounding, how quickly those two grew together, once their fondness for each other was officially allowed.

“Well, love does strange things to people,” she said, locking her eyes with Jack. He smiled, melting away her concern that he might still be bothered about the whole story that had him spiralling into deep self-loathing. But, as she was proudly aware of, her love had indeed done strange things to him. It had soothed the deep wounds of his past, and by the warmth in his eyes, he was currently thinking exactly the same. He cleared his throat loudly and changed the subject.

“How is Mrs. Stanley?”

“Excited currently.” Miss Fisher took another sip, trying to find the right words to break the news.

“I'm afraid she has it gotten into her head to come to Daylesford.”

The Inspector seemed speechless for a moment.

“Please tell me you are kidding.”

“You know me better than that, Jack. I never joke about Aunt P.'s attempts to get involved in any aspect of my personal life.”

Phryne sat down, wondering if to cancel the whole trip. While she really did want to meet Jack's family, tensions would run high enough without Prudence Stanley wandering the hallways. Jane looked at both adults in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

Jack didn't take his eyes from Phryne while he answered.

“Your mother has talked me into joining a family reunion that I didn't want to go to. And now Mrs. Stanley has invited herself along.”

“You actually have a family, Jack?”

DI Robinson's eyes flew to the girl at this.

“No offence, but you never mentioned them before. I always kind of thought you were alone...”

Jane trailed off, wondering if she had put her foot in it. Miss Fisher had trouble suppressing a giggle a the gobsmacked expression on the Inspector's face.

“See, Jack, you really have hidden them well. It is time that we find out who we are going to be related to in the near future.”

While his forehead fell into creases at this, Detective-Inspector Robinson surrendered to the overwhelming evidence. So maybe it was time that he introduced his future wife and daughter to the rest of the clan.

“But, Mrs. Stanley...?”

He looked at Miss Fisher's face, who slowly shook her head.

“Too late for seconds thoughts. She will come, whether we want her to or not,” she grinned, her red lips curling around the rim of her teacup, while she drained it.

“Welcome to the family, Jack.”

 

X

 

Mr. Butler was not quite sure, why he had come here. It wasn't one of the times they usually met. In fact, their usual day had been yesterday and he had seen her only last night. Yet, when he had left the Fisher residence to shop for some special ingredients he needed to cook Miss Jane's favourite dinner tonight, he could not resist the temptation to swing by the State Library.

In truth, he knew exactly, why he had come. While Mrs. Riya Santi probably had better things to do today than concern herself with the return of a girl she had never laid eyes on in her life, he needed to tell her this. After all, she was Phryne's friend too and surely, she must be interested. Tobias Butler had convinced himself of this, when he took the last steps, lifting his finger to his hat towards the glass likeness of Williams Shakespeare and catching his breath for a second, before following the balcony to where he knew to find his lover. He hoped, he wasn't interrupting her too much in her painting. She had taken a liking to landscapes at the moment, but didn't seem quite satisfied with where it lead her. Mr. Butler saw her from afar, her bright red frock in quite a contrast to the white balustrade she had leaned her canvas against. She was standing at the moment, looking with a frown at a tree that didn't seem to suit her wants. He was about to call out, when he spotted the second person, standing behind her.

Mr. Butler's enthusiastic steps trailed off, as he watched the tall, dark haired stranger move closer to Riya and look a the canvas over her shoulder, saying something that caused her to break into laughter. They looked nice together, Mr. Butler found. The man was wearing a uniform, quite obviously of higher rank and as far as he could tell from here, he was rather handsome, with an immaculately trimmed beard and his full head of hair only lightly marbled with some grey. Something in Mr. Butler's chest froze at the sight. He realised that it was his heart. Part of him wanted to walk there and push in between those two, another part of him desired to run. But he just stood, silently, watching. Something rolling against his foot tore him from his dark thoughts. Only then he realised, that he had dropped his shopping bag, groceries spilling out of it onto the floor. With burning eyes he shoved the things back into the paper, then turned stiffly and left. Riya Santi and Admiral Winterbottom didn't notice that they had been watched. They were currently discussing the rather terrible turn the tree on the canvas had taken, since the artist had decided to add a squirrel to it.

“I really think, I might have to get out of here at some stage.” Riya sighed, sinking onto her chair. “I have been in the city for too long, my spirit is drying up. It has forgotten what a landscape looks like.”

The admiral leaned against the balustrade, looking at his old friend.

“You know I would take you to about any landscape you like, Mrs. Santi,” he smiled.

The artist waved this comment off like a silly fly.

“Oh don't be ridiculous, Admiral. I don't need anyone to take me there. I am determined, I will have to find myself a landscape. A lush green forest, a beautifully lit lake, something amazing that touches my soul. It's starving in here with all the dust.”

She stood, walking over to the balcony and staring down into the round hall.

“Books are amazing, poetic, wonderful. But they don't remember the trees they have come from. There is nothing like nature to really inspire.”

The Admiral watched her, half confusion, half amusement on his features, as she babbled on about her longing for some fresh air and unfiltered sun on her face. The waterfall of words stopped suddenly, when the artist spotted something bright on the floor. With some confusion she picked up the round object, looking at the orange with a sense of dread.

 

X

 

“So, this is where you are hiding?”

Dorothy Collins almost dropped her rolling pin at the voice from her kitchen door. Her eyes widened in shock.

“Jane!”

Half laughing, half crying she wrapped the girl into her arms, covering her in flour.

“Dear God, when did you get back? Have you seen Miss Phryne yet? How was your travelling? Did you miss us?”

“Which question would you like me to answer first?” Jane grinned, dusting herself off.

“How are you? Besides taller and prettier?” Dot stated, looking at the girl. She realised with a start, how much she had missed having her around.

“Pretty good. It is a little strange to be here again. Things have changed.”

Jane let her eyes openly wander over the Collins' small kitchen.

“So this is your own house, is it?”

“It is. It was our wedding present from Miss Fisher.”

“Rather sneaky of her, keeping you around like that.”

“Isn't it?” Dot stated, without hiding the pride about her little house that shared a wall with the Fisher residence, before returning to her dough. Jane watched her for a while beating up the ball of flour and butter.

“It's a shame I missed your wedding too.”

Dorothy halted, a smile forming on her face at the fond memories.

“Yes, it was beautiful, Jane, you should have seen it. And neither of us knew at the time, that the Inspector had bought a ring just...” The maid clapped a hand in front of her mouth.

“It's alright, Dot, they told me already,” Jane laughed.

“Oh.” The maid blushed anyway, for good measure. “Well, then they probably shared all the details already. About how Doctor Mac noticed him being all secretive and thought he was having an affair with Amber Walters?”

“What? No, they didn't.”

Dot wiped her hands onto her apron, leaning back against the kitchen counter, grinning.

“Well, she nearly ripped his head off at my wedding. Luckily the Inspector had the ring in his pocket to prove his innocence or we might have had a murder at our reception.”

“It looks like I missed all the exciting things,” Jane pouted, stealing a bit of dough.

Dorothy smiled sweetly at this.

“I'm sure you had just as exciting adventures in Europe. It must be so beautiful there.”

Jane took this as an invitation to share some more of her worldly experience with her friend. She was finally home to tell the stories. It was even more exciting than travelling.

 

X

 

“Well, it's all settled,” Phryne sighed, falling into the loveseat, where Jack Robinson was currently occupied with the paper, finding himself suddenly being used as a cushion.

“It was rather short notice on the villa, but luckily it was empty. I rather think, the owner was happy to have someone take it; it is the end of the season.”

At this, Jack finally looked up from the news he had been studying.

“You are aware, we are only going to be there for a week and Uncle Walter does have a small estate there? When I say small I'm talking no more than ten guest rooms.” He said, turning a page.

Miss Fisher snuggled her head deeper into his shoulder, glimpsing at his reading material, without finding anything of interest.

“I know, but it seemed rather rude to turn up at his house with my whole family. So we will stay in a guesthouse nearby. Of course, you can stay with your family, if you prefer, Inspector.”

Jack turned another page, before answering.

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

With a small grin he finally turned to his lover and leaned down to press a kiss to her lips. Despite still feeling rather worried about introducing Phryne and her chaotic clan to his family, he started to be overtaken by her giddy excitement.

“We only need to pack now, but I will get Mr. Butler to help you tonight,“ she stated nonchalantly, staring out the window, where they rain was slowly easing off.

“Tonight?!”

“Yes, Jack. We are leaving tomorrow. Didn't I mention that I want to spend some time in Daylesford? I think we really need a holiday.”

“A holiday from leisure, Miss Fisher? I recall having done little more than loitering around in the parlour and on the rooftop those last few weeks.”

There was little sincerity in the Inspectors protest. In fact, while he still dreaded too much time with his family, the prospect of frolicking through lavender fields and bathing in the Hepburn springs with Phryne seemed utterly tempting. But he was not going to share this insight just yet. There was too much fun to be had in being convinced.

“I believe, Inspector, you might have worn me out a little bit during those periods of leisure,” Miss Fisher whispered into his thoughts with a red-lipped smile and leaned up to brush a kiss to his neck. Jack Robinson's eyes closed on their own accord. She knew exactly what buttons to push.

“Phryne.” He said warningly, sounding a little hoarse. Her eyes were innocence itself, while her fingertips trailed along his thigh. He grasped her hand, stilling it.

“We might have to be a little more careful now, with Jane in the house.”

“Oh, Jack. Don't be such a spoilsport,” she protested, while removing her hand from his leg and his firm grasp. While she did not look forward to having to behave herself around Jack, he did have a point and it filled her with a certain satisfaction, that he worried about Jane's well being. She had been scared for a moment there this morning, but it seemed like the clouds had passed. The Inspector had simply decided to take fatherhood in his stride. She wondered briefly, if he enjoyed the idea of calling Jane his daughter. They had never actually talked about his wish to have a family, mostly because Miss Fisher was scared that she would discover, she could not make him happy in this department. But the tears she had spotted this morning had spoken a pretty clear language. Jack had given up about ever becoming a father, yet discovering he might have a daughter after all, even an almost grown up foster child, had touched him deeply. She could only hope that it would be enough.

Miss Fisher resurfaced to find Jack Robinson watching her with a fond smile.

“Where have you been off to?” he prodded gently, kissing her on the forehead.

“Daylesford.” She lied convincingly. “Wondering if...”

Jack would never find out, just what she had been wondering about, as this very moment there was the sound of a key being forced into the lock and Phryne trailed off. After two break-ins in less than three months, it was probably understandable that she was a bit jumpy at the sound. But it was only Mr. Butler pushing through the door, shaking water of his coat. He looked rather drenched, which would have been normal for any other person, but the servant usually seemed rather disobeying to the rules of nature. So, seeing him in the state of a mere mortal having been caught in the rain, had something oddly shocking about it. He fished out a crumpled looking shopping bag from under his coat, before hanging up his hat and turned startled, when he found his Mistress leaning in the door frame to the parlour, looking at him.

“Are you alright, Mr. Butler?”

He thought about this for a moment, then plastered a smile to his face.

“Of course, Miss. It it rather terrible weather to be outside.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, Miss, if you don't need my service at this time, I shall get changed and begin dinner preparations. It is Miss Jane's first evening home after all.”

Phryne nodded, not believing a word. Something had happened. But it wasn't any of her business, was it? It was strange, while everybody in this house was carrying their own crosses, sharing their worries with each other, Mr. Butler always seemed like a rock that the waves of life splashed against without any effect. Seeing him shaken up was an awfully odd occurrence and she really didn't know what to say or do.

“Of course, Mr. Butler. Get dried, before you catch yourself cold. Oh, and,” she called after him, causing him to turn at the steps, to look at her, “we are leaving for Daylesford tomorrow afternoon by train. I would like you to come along.”

He flashed her a broad, fake smile and nodded.

“Very well, Miss.”

Mr. Butler didn't notice the two pairs of worried eyes following him as he walked upstairs. He was too deep in his thoughts. Daylesford? Possibly a good time for a little get away. He opened the door to his modest, but comfortable room on the upper floor and sank onto the chair in front of the small wooden desk. His clothes were by now sticking wet and clammy to his legs and back, but he currently did not have the mind to get changed. First he needed to do this, before the courage left him. He dipped his pen into the well, watching the ink leaving a splash on the paper, resembling a big blue tear. Mr. Butler sighed and fished for a new sheet. This had to be right.

 


	4. Wild Grass

 

So, this was actually happening, it dawned on Jack Robinson by the time the sun sank, turning they gloomy day into a darker shade of grey. He was going to Daylesford with Phryne and the whole entourage, to take part in the Robinson-Cox-Stafford's annual meeting. A part of him was more than amused at the thought. The rest of him was fretting. He wasn't sure if Miss Fisher was quite aware, what an icy wind might come towards her. And while she wandered the earth wrapped in an aura of nonchalance, he knew that she was also vulnerable. And Jack didn't want her to get hurt. In the light of this, he should probably have fought harder to keep her from going. But the truth was also, that he missed his family and deep down, the hope lived that even his father would have to see reason once he met Phryne and found out about their wedding plans. Jack Robinson folded his shirts into the suitcase with mixed feelings, when he encountered a pair of arms snaking around his chest.

“You are done already?” he asked, surprised. He was quite sure that Phryne would have packed about three times as many clothes as himself.

“Dot is finishing the packing for me. She needs distraction, I think she's a little upset about leaving Hugh behind.”

The Inspector smiled vaguely at this, without stopping to shove socks into the corner of his case.

“Well, someone has got to make sure, that the city isn't overrun by crime, while we are waltzing through Victorian forests, Miss Fisher.”

“True.” She mumbled, leaning her cheek against his back, which rendered his attempts to keep packing impossible. Jack stopped, wrapping his hands around her wrists.

“Phryne, are you sure, you are up for this? It's a beautiful countryside I grant you, but the company might get a little rough.”

She didn't answer for a long time and he started to wonder, if she had fallen asleep leaned against him, when she stirred.

“I am your future wife, Jack.” It was said quietly and seriously, with none of the usual teasing in her voice. He turned to face her.

“I'm not trying to hide you, Phryne. I'm trying to hide _them_.” The Inspector's wry smile accompanied his words.

A soft, warm hand was extended to stroke his cheek, without her tearing her eyes from his.

“You have hidden them long enough, Jack. It's time for us to face them.”

He nodded. So she understood. And she didn't want him to hurt either.

Whatever Jack might have said or done in this moment, it was lost, as a girl that had suddenly turned into his daughter, stuck her head through the door without knocking. Possibly, he would have to put down his fatherly foot there – he did remember the last time someone had shown unannounced in his bedroom. It had been his former wife and Phryne had just been wrapped around him in a state of undress that equalled his own. Jack shuddered at the thought of the trauma that sight could leave in a teenage-girl. Then again, she wasn't ten anymore and God knew, what she had gotten up travelling more or less alone through Europe. The Inspector wondered briefly, if this was, what parents did all day long? Worry about their children. Then he realised, that his future daughter was actually speaking.

“There is a woman down there who looks awfully like Doctor Mac. I think she found the Whisky decanter by now,” the girl stated, grinning broadly.

“Oh dear,” Phryne sighed, “So I guess the new doctor turned out to be as terrible as she feared.”

Miss Fisher slipped down the stairs, with Jack and Jane following from safe distance, to find Mac was indeed pacing with a glass of amber liquid in her hand. She looked more angry than upset, and Phryne breathed a sigh of relief. Anger she could deal with.

“Good evening, Mac,” she said sweetly, leaning in the door frame.

“That bastard!” the doctor spat, instead of a greeting, “Spoiled rich kid, not even dry behind the ears yet, but got the whole board wrapped around his little finger. I want to... Gahh.” According to her gestures, she either wanted to strangle or beat him. Miss Fisher didn't ask which of the two. She personally preferred not to watch Jack arrest her best friend for murder – yet again.

“He actually told a patient about my 'unnatural behaviour with women' and he now refuses to be treated by me!”

Hot anger started to bubble in Phryne's stomach at this. Discrimination against anyone for who they chose to share their life or bed with, made her blood boil, but Mac was not anyone. When she had regained enough calmness to address her friend, she found her having sunk into an armchair, deflated.

“I work hard to help for those people and now this little shit is trying to turn me into a persona non grata,” she said, draining her drink.

Miss Fisher crouched down at her side and grabbed her hand.

“That's awfully unfair.”

“And you know, what is the worst part? I am not even enganging in behaviour of any kind, natural or not. I haven't been with anyone in a year and a half!”

Mac slammed down her tumbler with so much vigour, that the little side table shook.

“Everything always turns around this and I'm not even getting anything out of it.”

Miss Fisher stayed silent, rubbing calming circles onto her friends arm. There was really little she could have said. It was just not fair. Elisabeth rubbed her flushed face with both hands.

“I think I just need a break.”

An idea appeared in Phryne's head, but a calm, male voice behind her caused her to turn around, before she could form it into words.

“Have you ever been to Daylesford, Mac?”

Miss Fisher stared at the Inspector, who stood in the door, smiling a tiny smile.

“Because I really think, we need an attending doctor for our plans.”

 

X

 

The brooch glittered quietly in it's nest of strawberry blonde curls, as the woman inspected herself in the mirror.

“You look beautiful,” the man said, kissing her shoulder. She frowned.

“No, it's not quite right. It needs to be something particular.”

She pulled the jewellery from her hair and handed it back to the man.

“Oh, don't look like that.”

He cleared his throat loudly.

“I don't know what you mean.”

“You look like I just shot your dog. It's just not the right piece.”

The man nodded, running his fingers over the brooch.

“Of course, love.”

He retreated, while the redhead flicked through the dresses of her wardrobe again. There had to be something that fit. Anything at all.

 

X

 

“So, he is actually attending?” Esmeralda Cox-Stafford asked the newspaper, that was currently shielding her husband from her view.

“The telegram said he is. I'm quite surprised personally, considering the tantrum John has been throwing at the poor boy,” the paper mumbled in return.

“And he is bringing his girl?”

Now the paper finally dropped, revealing the big, friendly face of Walter Cox-Stafford. His grey moustache twitched, when he spoke.

“Well, she is hardly a girl. Quite the lady I heard. But then, Iris is the only one who has met her and she is rather biased, given she is thick as thieves with Rosie Sanderson.”

His wife rose from the lunch table.

“I better tell Mrs. Roman then to ready another room. Or two? I'm not quite sure which is rude to offer in their case.”

“Sit down, woman. They aren't staying with us.”

Obediently Esmeralda dropped back onto her chair, looking with some confusion at her grinning husband.

“Jack's girl has rented the villa over at the lake, old Wimsey told me this morning, when I fetched the paper. Apparently she is bringing her staff.”

“Oh dear.” Esmeralda sighed, gripping her tea cup. “I wonder how our Jack is dealing with someone who can't leave her staff behind for a few days? He used to blush even when the maids made his bed here.”

“Well this Miss Fisher must be quite something.” Walter stated, ruffling the leaves of his paper. His wife wasn't listening anymore. She lifted her teacup to her lips, wondering how Jack had ended up with a woman like this Phryne Fisher. She only hoped, the poor boy wasn't in over his head.

 

X

 

The Inspector currently felt like he was in way over his head. The reason for his despair was for once not the Honourable Miss Fisher though. It was however related to her. Mrs. Prudence Stanley had spent the last ten minutes instructing Mr. Butler exactly what to do with her luggage, while her driver had piled one box after the next around the pale looking servant. She was not taking any of her own staff and she had obviously decided, that Phryne's would have to do. The Inspector resisted the urge to throttle her, when he stepped closer, smiling in a way you could have cut a knife on.

“Mr. Butler, would you be so kind as to walk a few metres with me? There is something I wish to discuss with you,” he urged, taking a hat box from the butlers fingers and very decidedly putting it down onto a pile of suitcases that shook dangerously. Mrs. Stanley opened her mouth but was silenced by a single look. The Inspector spoke to murderers quite frequently and some aspects rubbed off, his eyes promised and the lady retreated.

“Certainly, Sir.”

The men walked along the platform in silence for a while, before Jack Robinson had found the words he wanted to say.

“Mr. Butler, I am aware that it is none of my business. But as a detective I could not miss the fact that Mrs. Santi is not here to take her farewell from you. And while I also understand that the chances are slim that you would confide in me, I would like to assure you that I am all ears, if you should feel the urge to,” he said calmly, looking into the distance rather than at the flustered butler.

“Thank you, Sir,” the man said stiffly, his voice sounding suspiciously rough.

“Don't mention it,” Jack answered. They wandered along the tracks for a long moment in silence.

“I fear Mrs. Santi might not be as deeply involved in our bond, as I am,” the servant finally stated quietly, conversationally. Jack Robinson thought for a while about this.

“In my experience, these kind of discoveries can be quite deceiving, Mr. Butler.”

He thought of his own pain at finding Miss Fisher's lipstick on a dead man's collar. As it had turned out the encounter had been a whole lot different than he had ever dreamed and he was deeply grateful, that Phryne had had a chance to set him right then. He glanced at the pale face of the silent servant. Then again, it could of course be the case that he was right. Maybe he himself was just lucky that Phryne had changed her mind about her wish for independence. They had turned somewhere in the conversation and were now approaching Mrs. Stanley again, who had been joined by her niece and the other the ladies. While Aunt P. still looked slightly miffed, the rest of the group was in a state of giddy excitement that didn't even leave her wholly untouched. Even Mac seemed like she had gotten over her spell of despair and now looked forward to their trip.

“Wherever have you two been?” Miss Fisher asked, turning to straighten the Inspector's hat in one of those casual, intimate gestures, that always made him shiver with joy.

“Just having a walk and a chat,” the Inspector answered, holding still. Recognition dawned on the lady detective's face, as she went on to fix his collar too.

“Not about the absence of a certain artist, by chance?” Phryne whispered, after Mr. Butler had returned his attention to sorting the luggage.

“About just that,” the Inspector answered, taking one of her hands from his neck and pressing a kiss to it. “There have been certain developments, I will tell you about later,” he explained, with a look at her curious face. He didn't know if Mr. Butler would want him to talk about his private affairs but then again, nobody could expect him to keep secrets from Miss Fisher. Her butler certainly wouldn't. The incoming train ended his musing for the moment.

 


	5. Apple Tree

It took ten minutes to get themselves and their luggage settled into the three compartments Miss Fisher had booked. Aunt Prudence's was rather full with luggage, however she insisted that Jane keep her company to 'catch up' with the girl. The girl rolled her eyes and obliged in the most ladylike manner. Mr. Butler and Dot chose the second that was a tiny bit smaller and were joined by Mac, who was leading a heated discussion with Dorothy about the role of women in society. Mr. Butler was obviously off in his own inner discussions right now and didn't seem to mind. That left Phryne and Jack in their own compartment, in heavenly silence and only each other's company. It was almost strange after the long hours filled with expectation and chatter and for a long moment, they just sat across from each other, looking out at the landscape flying by.

“So what is going on with Mr. Butler?” Phryne finally asked the question that was occupying both their minds. Jack took a moment to answer.

“I believe, he might have found Mrs. Santi in a compromising situation.”

“Did he tell you that?”

The Inspector shook his head.

“He only hinted at it. He is questioning her sincerity.”

Miss Fisher fell back into her cushions, locking her arms over her chest.

“What nonsense! Riya is very fond of him.”

“That might well be, Phryne, but I'm not sure to the extent that she will plan a future with him.”

Miss Fisher stayed quiet at this. She remembered a conversation with Riya Santi a few weeks back in which she had asked her not to break her servant's heart. She had promised it. But in the same conversation she had also found out, that Riya and her now deceased husband had had an agreement which allowed a certain freedom in their marriage. She was pondering if she should share this with Jack, when his voice broke her from her thoughts.

“Let's be realistic. Mrs. Santi is a well-to-do lady and Mr. Butler is a servant.”

Miss Fisher's head flew up. Classism from Jack? That was new and scary. He obviously had noticed her shock.

“Don't get me wrong, Phryne. I dearly hope for Mr. Butler that it works out. But society has certain expectations to a good match.”

“You are a policeman and I am a Baron's daughter.” She said furiously, before she could stop herself. His face went stony at this. Miss Fisher gulped.

“That came out wrong, Jack.”

He waved her off.

“It is the way it is. I am a poor sod and you are a rich lady and no matter how you say it, it won't change the facts,” He said quietly, staring out into the landscape. Phryne didn't reply for a long time. Thoughts were dancing through her brain.

“But you want to marry me despite it,” she finally stated. He looked up, appearing serious, but less upset than she had expected.

“Yes, I do. And nothing is going to stop me, Miss Fisher.” Jack smiled and she couldn't hide her relief at this.

“But I am aware, that our social differences aren't going to make this easier. It didn't for my parents.”

It had occurred to Phryne sometime during the night, when she had watched Jack toss in restless dreams for the first time in weeks, that if his mother had been from a family so wealthy that it had appeared on Aunt P.'s radar, she must have married down somewhat. Miss Fisher had never met the Robinson's, but she had seen Jack's house, knew him, at work and privately and he was very much rooted in the lower middle class reality of life. The effect was somewhat spoiled by his manners, the Shakespeare he quoted, the Chopin he played, the way he talked and behaved. She also remembered the lady that Jack had drawn similarities with his mother to. Margaret Bungard, the next-of-kin of a murder victim, was very much not lower middle class but instead the head of a wealthy, old family and through and through a lady.

“Tell me about them,” she heard herself saying, “How did your parents meet?”

If Jack was confused at the turn of conversation, he didn't show it. He looked out the window for a little longer, watching the sheep littered across the greenery like flecks of snow.

“My father was a constable at the Daylesford police station. My mother the second child of the Cox-Staffords. I'm not sure if they had their business yet back then or were still living of their small gold mine. But mother was definitely out of his reach,” Jack smiled.

“But he was in love with her nevertheless and when he had the chance to help her pick apples for the harvest festival, of course he did. Their records vary a little on what exactly happened, but he might have fallen heroically of the ladder. Or possibly caught her, when she did. Either way, half a year later they were engaged.”

A fond glimmer had stolen in Inspector Robinson's eyes as he talked and Phryne was a little worried about destroying this with her next question.

“And what did her parents have to say about this?”

“They were not overjoyed exactly. But my mother had her own will. She always did what she thought was right. Wether it was climbing into an apple tree herself or marrying the man she loved.”

“She reminds me of someone,” Phryne grinned.

Jack cleared his throat, a faint smile playing around his lips.

“But sadly the influenza she died of six years ago wasn't convinced by her stubbornness.” He kneaded his hands on his lap. “Father has never gotten over losing her. I sometimes think he blames me.”

Phryne, who had been contemplating if she should disturb his memories by touching him, was shocked. She got up to sit beside him, taking his hands between hers.

“What on earth could he blame you for?”

Jack stared out the window, a suspicious wetness glittering in his eyes.

“The War had drained her. The worry about my brother and me was too much on her. And then I got myself wounded.”

“That was hardly your fault. I doubt you invited that damn German to stick a knife into your stomach.” Miss Fisher protested. He smiled at this.

“Not exactly. But then we came home and Will just went on with his life. He married his Wendy. You'll meet her in the next days, nice girl. And they had their daughter and as far as I can tell, they are quite settled and happy. You know, how my marriage ended.” His voice had turned into a whisper at the last sentence. Miss Fisher pressed his fingers gently. Of course she knew. Jack had only gotten divorced from Rosie less than two years ago, but they had been estranged a long time before that.

“Rosie moved out of our home only three months before mother died.”

There was so much pain in this statement, that Phryne instinctively wrapped her arms around her lover, pulling him closer.

“You don't actually believe yourself, that you killed your mother?” she asked, when the first shock had worn off. He turned his head at this, unshed tears were glittering in his eyes.

“Of course not. Influenza killed her.”

He did not finish his thought, but Phryne could hear it. Dear God, the man was a never ending well of self-loathing. How he had constructed this guilt in his brain, she would never know. The sound of the door opening for once filled her with gratefulness, rather than annoyance.

“Please help me,” Jane whispered, only half-joking as she slipped into the compartment. “She will not stop talking.”

Phryne laughed at this and extended an arm for her daughter to join them. A quick glance at Jack showed, that he had pulled himself together in no time at all. It never ceased to surprise her, how he could just snap out of his moods and brush them off like a speck of dust.

“Please tell me your family is less exhausting than Aunt Prudence,” Jane begged to the amusement of both adults.

“I fear I will have to disappoint you there. Even though the most annoying ones are not going to be there.” At the wondering eyes he continued. “My sister Amanda is not attending this year. She is expecting and the trip down from Sydney is just too much on her in this weather.”

“You seem terribly broken up about this.”

Detective-Inspector Robinson grinned.

“I love my sister, but her taste in men is astoundingly terrible. Her husband is a complete imbecile and their little son takes after his father, if I am any judge.”

“Sounds charming,” Phryne stated dryly.

“Well as I said, they won't be there. You will like my brother's family though. My father is also going to come up from Melbourne, he might be a problem,” Jack sighed, “And then there's Uncle Walter. He is funny.”

“Funny amusing or funny strange?” Jane asked, humour glittering in her eyes. The Inspector pondered this for a moment, then smiled.

“Both actually. I think he drives his wife up the walls sometimes, but she is terribly fond of him. Esmeralda considers herself rather level headed, despite not having had to work a day in her life. She likes cooking and gardening and getting her expensive dresses dirty. She is quite something.”

“Is Mrs. Walker joining us?” Miss Fisher asked, her voice showing more anxiety than she had intended on.

“Iris will probably bring her husband, as well as her mother and sister.”

“There's more of her sort?” Phryne sighed under her breath, to both people's amusement.

“And there I thought, they would be right down your alley, Miss Fisher. Very outspoken,” the Inspector teased. Of course, he understood her anxiety. But he had come to the conclusion that Iris was the one person in his family he _really_ did not want to miss in his life. Despite the unfortunate friendship with his ex-wife, he wanted his cousin to accept Miss Fisher by his side. And God help him, he even dared to hope for the women to like each other.

“Who are they?” Jane asked, reminding both that she was still there, not having the faintest idea of past events.

“Jack's cousin,” Phryne stated calmly. “She isn't particularly fond of me.”

“She must be rather daft then.” Jane concluded loyally.

“I'm afraid, it's not that simple,” Miss Fisher smiled, explaining the whole twisted situation to her ward.

“Well, you have gotten yourself into quite a stupid situation, Jack. And your family sounds... interesting,” Jane pointed out, when Phryne had finished. “Thank God, you have us around.”

Miss Fisher laughed at that, Jack grinned foolishly. Thank God indeed.

 

X

 

Mrs. Santi sat down at the table, covered mostly in photographs and books. Her Maid Irma knew better than to disturb the piles and had done her best, shuffling things aside to set her afternoon tea despite it. The steady migraine that Riya had battled all morning, keeping her from going to the gallery and in fact from even crawling out of bed till half an hour ago, had eased up somewhat, but she still pushed the tray with the teacakes aside that was resting on top of a leather bound novel. Her stomach revolted alone at the thought of eating. Staring at the table top with empty eyes, she stirred five spoons of sugar into her tea, a little habit, that Tobias Butler always teased her about. Her head hammered at the thought of him. Mrs. Santi had only seen him two days ago, yet couldn't shake a strange feeling in her stomach that something was off. She should have listened to her instinct and dropped by Phryne's house last night. But her migraine had started by the time she had finally convinced the Admiral that she really didn't feel like evening company and she had longed for her bed even more than to talk to her lover. It had been the wrong decision; she could feel it in her bones. Irma's hesitant knock echoed through the artist's skull, as the maid pushed into the room.

“Irma, you know I love you but please stop knocking. I am alone. What do you think I could be doing to that requires you to knock first?”

The maid blushed at the things that occurred to her, reminding Mrs. Santi, why she employed the girl. She tried a smile that came out rather lop-sided and pained.

“Anyway, what did you need?” she asked, reconciled.

“A letter, Ma'am. Came in this morning, but I didn't want to rouse you. Looks like a love letter,”

the girl smiled before retreating. Riya stared for a while with a pounding heart at the white envelope. It was simple paper and she had no idea, how Irma had concluded what she had, but it was indeed Tobias' hand writing. A sense of dread took ahold of her, when she slipped the envelope open with her butter knife. It held only a single sheet of paper, a few lines. Mr. Butler was not a man of many words. But they were as clear as they were polite. Riya Santi's palm came up to cover her mouth, before she reread it. And again. Her head throbbed. So it _had_ been him, leaving fruit behind at her make-shift atelier and he _had_ seen the Admiral. But he couldn't actually think, that she... could he?

He could! She realised it on rereading the one sentence for what must have been the tenth time. _“In all respect for your sense of freedom, given the circumstances, I just can not allow myself to fall further in love .”_

That foolish man! She jumped up so fast that her chair fell over and Irma stormed into the room with a worried question on her lips that her Mistress completely ignored. 

“Ask Adam to get the car ready, I will be going out.” 

“In that?” the maid asked.

Riya Santi looked down on herself, where a white morning gown with colourful emblems covered up less than was to be desired in company. 

“Good point. I will get dressed first and then I will go out. I have a man to beat some sense into,” she growled. Irma retreated with a quiet smile on her lips. Mrs. Santi on warpath was not someone to cross.

 

X

 

The woman in a fashionable white hat and a matching coat slowly walked up the stairs to the portal and rapped at the door. Seconds later it was ripped open by a tall, slim woman with a flushed face, wearing a chequered apron over a dark green afternoon frock.

“Olivia! How wonderful to see you.”

Esmeralda Cox-Stafford wrapped her Sister-in-law into her arms, before she could protest.

“Oh you look lovely. I swear the years just make you more beautiful, unlike us mere mortals who just grow fat and wrinkly.”

Olivia Morgan laughed at this, her brunette curls shaking.

“Because you ever had to battle a single gram of fat, where it doesn't belong,” she grinned fondly. “Anyway, where is that husband of yours hiding? Not scared of us, is he?”

“I am right here,” a booming voice spoke from somewhere up the dark corridor and seconds later, the master of the house emerged, followed by a puppy dog, who had not quite gotten the idea of being a dark, majestic beast just yet and fell over its own paws on approaching.

After giving his sister something resembling the hug of a grizzly bear, Walter let his eyes trail over the doorstep, as if he could find the missing people there.

“Where have you left your brood, sister? They haven't bailed, have they? Now that Jack's actually coming up here for once that would be a bloody shame.”

Olivia stepped into the house without being invited, hanging her hat up, rather ignorant of the maid, who was obviously new and hovered somewhere in the background hoping to get some coats to take care of.

“Jack's coming? Don't tell me he is bringing that lady of his. I've heard some stories, I tell you. Then again, Sidney Fletcher is probably about the last person I would ask for his opinion there.”

“Isn't he Rosie's new husband?”

“Yes, a rather arrogant fellow. Also rather dead by now.”

“Oh,” was all Aunt Esmeralda could think of to say. “Poor Rosie.”

“Yes, ghastly story that. But never mind. Iris seems to have somewhat revised her opinion on the mysterious Miss Fisher lately, but we will see soon for ourselves, won't we?”

She turned to her brother.

“Oh and in all my babbling I haven't actually answered your question, beloved brother of mine. Forgive me. The children are currently discussing how to park the car properly. I'm afraid, Rupert is losing the battle to the girls.”

A booming laugh answered this, before Olivia was shown the way to the drawing room. Little had changed. It was good to be home.

 

X

 

The cool wind blowing through her openly flowing hair wiped the rests of the migraine away. Riya Santi enjoyed driving she found. She couldn't remember, why she hadn't done it in so many years. Probably just the laziness of the rich, who always had someone else to drive. After a ride in Phryne's Hispano there had been no stopping her in getting her own car on the road and right now she was thankful for it. Not having to talk to anyone at this stage was a relief. It wasn't a long drive to Phryne's house, that looked suspiciously empty in the early gloom of twilight. Riya parked in front of the door nevertheless and walked down the short garden path to the front door. Her knock didn't draw any response however.

“They're not home,” a male voice said behind her. When Mrs. Santi turned, a young man was standing behind her, looking nervous. She remembered him vaguely.

“Cec, isn't it?” she asked.

He tipped his hat at her.

“It is, Ma'am. Miss Fisher and her family have gone to Daylesford on a holiday. We were asked to look after the house.”

He threw a glance at the other man who was waiting with a grim expression behind the wheel of a taxi-cab. Riya pondered this for a moment. So that was what Tobias had meant by space. Daylesford.

“Did they all go?” she asked the Cabbie, who was still standing in front of her, a key in hand.

“Every single one of them, Ma'am.”

Riya Santi nodded at this and with a quick word of gratitude was on her way back to her car.

“Would you like to leave a message, Ma'am?” Cec yelled after the retreating woman. Riya turned and smiled grimly.

“Thank you, but that won't be necessary.”

'Daylesford', she thought, starting her car. Well, she had been after a landscape. And those Daylesford certainly had plenty of.

 


	6. Basil

The rest of the trip had gone by without a hitch and in the first gloom of twilight, Miss Fisher and her entourage finally arrived at their destination. The Villa lay impressively in the darkening light, with its big white window and stone walls. A pergola, covered in grapevines lead up the steps to the entrance and the women followed the owner, an elderly lady who could not seem to stop talking, with some awe, while the men unloaded their luggage from the cart that had brought them here. One of the horses whinnied in impatience that Jack could more than understand. The lead in his muscles told him, that this day had been a long one. Despite this, he probably should be polite enough to at least pay a quick visit to his uncle and whoever else had arrived already. He yawned, watched by Mr. Butler, who had gained some colour back to his cheeks. At least he seemed to enjoy the trip so far, with every kilometer that separated him from the reason of his breaking heart, appearing to return him more to his old self. While the Inspector was relieved about this, he also wondered if it was the right decision to just cut and run. Not that he blamed the servant for being scared of the heartache, but it seemed kind of cowardly to him to just flee town. And being a coward was something he had never associated with Mr. Butler. Then again, he himself had attempted something similar some time ago – in vain.

He still pondered this, when he stepped through the door into a big hall and disposed of the first lot of suitcases there to follow the women into the kitchen. French doors opened out onto a big garden with soft looking grass and a variety of plants, but that wasn't what caught his attention. It was the lake whose little waves glittered in the evening light that really took his breath away.

“It's beautiful,” he whispered to Phryne, who had opened one of the doors and stared out into the coming night. Jack resisted the urge to wrap himself around her and forget about the other people lingering around them.

“And you haven't even seen our bedroom yet,” Phryne grinned, equally quietly, taking him by the hand and pulling him upstairs. The Inspector considered protesting that there was still plenty of luggage to be dragged into the house but the discovery of a bedroom with Miss Fisher promised much more fun than hat boxes. The silly argument Prudence and Mac were currently entangled in about the style of some part of the sitting room faded into the background, when they reached the upper landing. Phryne lead her Inspector all the way down to the other end of the hall and pushed a door open. The first thing he saw was the huge four-poster bed, with it's crisp white sheets and curtains, then the view out over the lake, that was, if it was possible, even more breathtaking up here. The moon that had been in hiding now appeared as a pale thin sickle on the evening sky, and the retreating sunlight was currently dipping the forests framing the waterline into shades of orange and gold. The first stars glittered somewhere high in the sky that was turning a dark shade of violet.

“What do you think?” Phryne asked, with an air of utter excitement, opening the window. Jack found her flushed face so enchanting right now, that he could barely speak. Instead he chose to slip his fingers into her hair and pull her in for a lingering kiss.

“I guess you like it,” she whispered when they retreated, noticing the shortness of his breath.

“Is there a key to this door?” the Inspector asked instead of answering.

“In the lock,” Miss Fisher replied, without tearing her eyes from him. It took Jack some strength to make the few steps over to the door and slip the iron bolt across. When he turned, she was standing right behind him, pushing him with some vigour back against the wood and attacking his mouth with hers. The Inspector barely managed to get enough room in between their bodies to start unbuttoning her coat. There was warm skin somewhere to be found under all the layers of her travelling gear and his trashing fingers were determined to make it out. This was rendered somewhat harder by the fact that she was still taking his breath away by wrestling his tongue with hers, not releasing his mouth long enough to drag air into his lungs. Her hands however were busy relieving him of the burden of his own clothes. His top coat had already hit the floor he found and his coat was currently stuck at his elbows, as he was unwilling to let go of her long enough to get rid of it. He pushed her gently back, towards where the incredibly soft looking mattress was waiting on its occupants, leaving a trail of clothes behind in their wake. His vest did a disappearing act shortly after her skirt. Her blouse turned out to be rather tricky with way too many buttons and seams where they shouldn't be.

Jack's frustration grew, till he finally resolved to just pull the damned thing over her head to finally slip his fingers over the silk that barely disguised the hidden treasures from his wandering hands. Phryne moaned somewhere in the back of her throat under his touch and opened the buttons of his pants with the ease of a woman, who had had some practice in the matter. In fact, his hat was the last thing that flew away into the soft night air, after they had fallen onto the bed, before Miss Fisher gave into Jacks hands and mouth, roaming the thin layer of golden silk covering her skin. When his tongue found her nipple through the fabric, she moved her hips against him, urging him to stop teasing her, but Jack had no intentions of the kind. They were on a holiday after all, and what was the point of that, if not to take their time? He did not voice that however, as Phryne was turning the tables on him, rolling him onto his back and pulling his hands over his head in a death grip, that one would not have expected from her slim fingers. Despite the thin layer of cool fabric still separating them, he groaned loudly as she moved against him. A content smirk appeared on her lips, where the red had smeared somewhat and had probably become mostly attached to his face and other parts of his body by now. Alright, possibly teasing her had not been the best move, it occurred to the Inspector somewhere in the haze of lust clouding his brain, as she played his body like a well tuned piano. But the thought was gone as fast as it had come, while he squirmed underneath her, all but begging her to show mercy on him. But Miss Fisher had no intentions of the kind. They were on holiday after all.

 

X

 

Darkness had fallen over the Lake Villa by the time, Miss Fisher had finished with her Inspector and sated herself. Still panting, she turned to Jack, who was lying on his back, catching his breath. They both knew that they had to reappear soon. They had a house full of people and there would be uncomfortable questions if they gave into the temptation of simply cuddling up and going to sleep. But they could allow themselves a few more precious moments without too much drama attached. Miss Fisher looked at her lover, who was stretched out on the formerly crisp sheets with a giddy form of happiness. There was something so strong and at the same time vulnerable to his naked body in the night blue light falling through the window, that made her want to wrap him in her arms and not let go. Damn her family, damn his family. She smiled, considering curling up against his chest and forgetting that there were other people in the world, when loud rapping tore her from her thoughts.

“Are you alright in there Phryne? You have been gone some time and I think I heard something like a scream.”

The Inspector repressed a grin at this. Miss Fisher could get rather vocal at times.

“Perfectly fine, Aunt P,” she called out sweetly. “Just getting ready for Dinner.”

There was silence at the other end of the door.

“You wouldn't know where the Inspector is, would you? He left poor Mr. Butler all alone with the luggage,” Mrs. Stanley finally asked suspiciously. Jack pressed his lips together, trying to keep himself from bursting into laughter, while his lover called out: “I have no idea, Aunt P. I'll be down shortly.”

Grumbling the older lady bustled off.

“So Inspector, after I saved you from the wrath of my Aunt, do you think we should go down for dinner?”

“I suppose we will have to,” he sighed theatrically, sitting up. “I have to hand it to you though, Miss Fisher, you are quite the liar.”

“I have to be Jack, or I wouldn't be any good at my job,” she smiled, slipping into something in the colour of blooming lavender. Jack had to think about this. He guessed, she did have to fib her way through her investigations here and there.

“Would you mind?” she asked, turning her back to him. As he closed the buttons of her dress, he couldn't help but wonder, how often she had told him white little lies over time. Not that it really mattered; he knew that she was sincere in the important things. He brushed off the thoughts by kissing her white shoulder.

“Inspector, if you keep going down this road, we will have to stay up here after all,” Phryne said, turning. He wiped a rest of lipstick off her cheek and smirked.

“That would be indeed tragic, Miss Fisher.”

She rolled her eyes at him in mock annoyance and left him behind in the bedroom to remove all traces of her make-up from himself, before following her downstairs. It was probably better to throw Aunt Prudence of their trail while they could. Music greeted her when she approached the sitting room. Mac and Jane had found the gramophone, with the doctor teaching the teenager some dancing moves. Aunt Prudence sat on the sofa, watching them with a sort of fond disgust. Amused, Miss Fisher stood in the doorframe for a moment, before heading over to the kitchen, where Dot was stirring in a big pot and Mr. Butler chopping herbs. The smell of basil and tomato hung in the air, reminding Miss Fisher's stomach that she hadn't eaten since an early lunch. Hungrily she lingered behind Dot, looking over the maid's shoulder into the pot.

“That smells fantastic, Dot.”

“Thank you, Miss. I wanted to try this recipe for a while and it just seemed perfect here.”

“It really is the most wonderful food for this place, Dorothy,” smiled Mr. Butler, bringing over the chopped Basil, while Miss Fisher stole a spoonful of the tomato sauce out of the pot. “This area has a rich Italian heritage.”

“I believe, this villa was built by Italian immigrants,” Phryne stated, after she had gotten over burning her tongue in her spell of greed.

“That explains this strange architecture,” a voice said from the door. Miss Fisher turned, hiding the dirty spoon behind her back and smiled sweetly at her aunt.

“I'm glad you are enjoying the ambience, Aunt P.”

Mrs. Stanley held out her empty wineglass to Mr. Butler, who eagerly refilled it, before answering her niece.

“It is certainly different. But I didn't expect anything else from the countryside.”

Phryne rolled her eyes at this and poured herself a glass of red wine. She was starting to enjoy this whole holiday thing. But they weren't here to have a pleasant time. And as much as Phryne pretended to Jack, that she wasn't worried, her knees went weak at the idea that his family might hate her.

 

X

 

Miss Fisher might have been interested in the fact that she was currently the subject of dinner conversation in another house, not far away.

“So she actually talked a serial-killer out of shooting Jack's ex-wife?” asked Aunt Esmeralda's somewhat muffled voice, as if she had forgotten to swallow in her excitement.

“So Rosie tells me,” Iris insisted. “It must have been quite the speech too. And then Jack stands in the door, holding a pistol...”

Iris Walker trailed off, as the new maid bustled in quietly, whispering eagerly to the lady of the house. Esmeralda rose, laying down her serviette.

“Apparently there is someone at the door claiming to be expected. Please excuse me. And don't you dare finish the story, before I'm back,” she said warningly in the direction of her niece. Iris smiled, returning her attention to the fish on her plate.

Mrs. Cox-Stafford didn't recognise the man in the gloomy hall light, till he turned.

“Jack!” she yelled, dragging her surprised nephew into a hug. “I didn't know you were coming up today already. Your uncle neglected the mention it, the sly dog. How are you? Look at you, all respectable Detective-Inspector. Does your new girl make you wear those clothes in your time off?”

Jack Robinson found himself speechless at the flood of words coming towards him. But before he could point out that he had been wearing a three-piece-suit as daily armour pretty much since the end of the War, he had already been pulled into the dining room, where eyes flew up.

“Look at who the cat dragged in!” Aunt Esmeralda prompted, even though nobody in the room had missed the man who had walked through the door. Jack blushed at all the attention, but his anxiously searching eye didn't find the one person he dreaded meeting.

“Please... don't get up.” His hands rose in a calming gesture, as he heard chairs screeching over the floor. “I'm sorry to burst into your dinner, I just wanted to drop by briefly-”

“Stop talking and sit down.” A laughing female voice interrupted him.

“Hazel!” Olivia scolded, laughing herself. “I'm sorry Jack, I fear my daughter is still as rude as ever.”

“And we wouldn't have her any other way,” Uncle Walter said, finally pulling his nephew into a bone crushing hug and shoving him onto a chair. Jack was overtaken by something that was the familiar feeling of belonging. He had actually really missed this, he noticed.

“So where is this Miss Fisher of yours?” Esmeralda asked, pouring him an unasked for drink. “Don't tell me you're hiding her from us? We aren't that terrible.”

“Well, at least we pretend not to be.” Rupert Walker grinned, earning himself a gentle shove from his wife. Jack took a sip of wine with a fond smile, trying to find an answer to their question.

“Miss Fisher actually insisted on meeting you. She told me, I've hidden you long enough.” His grin grew broader. “We just arrived though and they are still settling in, so I chose to go for an evening walk to say hello.”

He took another sip of his glass, while more excited chatter filled the room.

“You must come for breakfast tomorrow,” Uncle Walter urged. “Otherwise my wife will explode of curiosity.”

“That might well happen,” Hazel Morgan stated, finishing her own drink, “but seriously Jack, I need to meet this woman, who runs through Melbourne knife-wielding and killer-hunting.”

Inspector Robinson sought out Iris' eyes, wondering what she had told her family about Phryne. There was no hostility there, even the faintest idea of a smile and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“We would love to,” he finally said, causing more excitement. “There is only one small problem.” Jack stated loudly over the busy chatter, “We might have brought a few more people than we intended to.”

 


	7. Ivy

“Tomorrow morning?” asked Phryne from where she stood at the window, looking out over the lake that lazily splashed around under the moonlight.

“For breakfast,” Jack confirmed from the bed. He was lying in darkness, watching the silhouette of his lover against the night sky. She turned.

“Will your father be there?” she asked, sitting down onto the edge of the mattress.

“Probably not in the morning. They are expecting him some time during the day,” Jack explained. So she was worried. So was he.

“Well, that gives us a little time to convince the rest of your clan, that I am not all that horrible,” she joked, leaning in to kiss him. He wiped a lock of hair from her cheek, glancing into her eyes, that were a dark shade of blue in this light.

“According to my cousin Hazel you are a knife wielding killer-hunter,” he grinned. “She is dying to meet you.”

“Well, that's something,” Phryne purred, crawling onto the mattress and snuggling up against her fiancé. After lying for a moment in silence, she asked “So, who else is going to be there?”

Jack groaned in mock annoyance. “Miss Fisher, we are on holiday, in a wonderfully soft bed, just you and me. I believe, we have talked quite enough about my family for one night.”

To underline his words, he pulled her into a deep, gentle kiss. They resurfaced both a little short of breath, tightly wrapped around each other.

“Jack?” Phryne murmured, drawing a responding mumble from him, while his hand ran along her side searchingly. “Is Hazel Iris' sister?”

The Inspector didn't answer. Instead he pulled her hips against his, showing her that he currently was not thinking about his family at all. Miss Fisher chose not to complain.

 

X

 

A noise woke her. The woman lay still and listened into the dark. There was someone in her house. She could more feel than hear him. Without waking the man who was snoring gently beside her, she slipped out of her bed, her strawberry blonde curls falling messily down over the lacy nightdress. Seconds later a pair of naked feet slipped over the floorboards. A soft breeze greeted her in the hall. So someone had broken in. In the dark she fumbled for the blue porcelain vase her grandmother had given her for her 18th birthday. For a moment she wondered, if a burglar was worth destroying the precious piece, but then, she couldn't think of any other weapon. Her foot stubbed against something hard and she repressed a curse. By the time she reached the kitchen, it was empty. Only the curtains fluttered tellingly in the soft night wind.

 

X

 

The birdsong was hideously kitschy, Mac decided on opening her eyes. This whole place was like a cut out of a holiday catalogue at a travel agency. Not that she personally ever had the time for a holiday – or a visit to a travel agency. It was rather strange, not having to get up, she found. Of course, eventually she had to crawl out of bed, her bladder reminded her vehemently. But there were no patients waiting, no rounds to be done, no students to be lectured. It was just her and the morning and the birds. Odd. She wondered, if Phryne felt like this every day.

Mac swung her pyjama clad legs onto the edge of her bed, that was too big for her and a sharp reminder that she had nobody to fill the other half of it. Elisabeth guessed it was alright. She usually didn't have time for loneliness either. But if she didn't have her job, what was her life really good for? Other than to listen to hysterically singing birds and holding her nose in the soft morning breeze intruding through the open window into her privacy?

She yawned, stretching herself back into shape and fished for her morning gown. Sneaking past a door behind which Prudence Stanley snored loudly, she walked down the stairs with easy steps. For such an aimless way of living, her heart felt awfully light.

The last remains of morning fog wafted over the lawn, when the doctor stepped out into the garden. Her bare feet sank deep into the cool, soft grass, covering her toes in dew. Mac lit her cigarette while strolling between the old trees towards the lake. She didn't notice the figure sitting silently on the bench under a crooked birch straight away. Only a quiet sob shook her out of her deep thoughts to have a closer look. The doctor froze. Wondered, what to do. Then she sat down beside Dorothy Collins silently, dragging on her cigarette.

Dot didn't look up for a long time, just cried quietly along. Then she finally turned her red eyes towards Doctor MacMillian, rubbing at them with the back of her hand.

“You must think me a complete moron,” she finally stated in a voice that still sounded somewhat watery.

Mac took another puff and rubbed out her gasper on the side of the bench.

“No, I don't. I wish I had somebody to cry about.”

Dorothy pondered this for a moment, chewing on her lower lip.

“Miss Phryne told me it was alright to stay home. But I wanted to come. And now I just can't stop crying.”

Mac did something she never did. She actually wrapped an arm around the young woman and pulled her into an awkward sideward embrace. So the two women sat for a while, without talking. There really wasn't a lot to talk about. But there were birds singing, and waves splashing and a sun rising. And for the moment that was enough.

 

X

 

Expectant silence was lying over Wombat Hall, as the sun climbed higher into the sky, hanging indecisively somewhere over the fields. Walter Cox-Stafford sat behind his huge desk of solid cherry wood as he scribbled a letter. Then he balled it up and threw it at the bin, missing it by half a meter. A few more minutes went by, with more flying letter balls, while the old grandfather clock in the corner ticked time away.

“Miss Spencer?”

Seconds later a pretty head of strawberry blonde curls popped through a gap in the door.

“Sir?”

“Can you please find me the paperwork on the agreement with McLancester? And then type up this letter? Make it sound nice. I just can't find the words today.”

He handed her the last attempt, that had only barely escaped a fate as a flying object.

“Of course, Sir. Anything else?”

“Yes, when Crossley comes in, please tell him, I will be unavailable today. Family. He's been here long enough, I'm sure he can deal without me for a day or two.”

He missed the shadow stealing over his assistant's face at this.

“Of course.”

“That will be all, Miss Spencer. If you need me, I am downstairs.”

And with that he was off. Hector, the puppy who had not quite decided yet, what breed he was going to be and had snored in sweet dreams of chasing rabbits till a moment ago, jumped clumsily to his feet and followed his master down the impressive staircase into the entrance hall. Walter checked his watch, then shook his head and walked into the sun room, where his wife was with some frenzy polishing a piece of cutlery.

“I'm sure, they will not care about how shiny your silver is, love,” Walter said, kissing her on the cheek. Esmeralda huffed at this.

“The Honourable Phryne Fisher is probably used to much finer table settings than this. Can you believe Jack is involved with a Baroness?”

Her husband hummed at this, picking up a cup and wiping a tiny stain of it with his sleeve.

“He looks good though,” he stated in his deep, calm voice. “And the description of her doesn't exactly sound like she spends her days drinking tea with Earls and Duchesses,” he smiled on afterthought.

Mrs. Cox-Stafford did not get a chance to answer this, as the voices in the hall asked for her full attention. She slipped through the doorframe, followed by her husband. There was a collection of women in her house that she sorted in her mind to the people Jack had told them about last night. A young, blonde woman, nicely dressed, but rather shy looking, must be Miss Fisher's companion, a red headed creature in male clothes with an aura of authority – definitely Doctor MacMillan, a young girl who must be her ward and an lady, probably a little older than herself, who was currently coming towards her. That would have to be...

“Prudence Stanley. How'd you do?”

Esmeralda shook the extended hand, dimly wondering, where her nephew and his girl were. They couldn't be too far.

“I believe we actually met about 20 years ago,” Mrs. Stanley prompted, obviously expecting to be remembered. “Funny how our paths cross again. I am Miss Fisher's Aunt and wanted to meet the family she will be marrying into, when I heard your name and remembered.”

Mrs. Cox-Stafford's attention had been somewhat distracted from her conversation partner by Jack stepping through the door accompanied by a stunning woman with porcelain skin, black hair and the most beautifully flowing green dress. So that was her! The rumours hadn't been wrong. A red lipped smile was darted in Esmeralda's direction and she must have looked quite gobsmacked, because Jack was giving her one of those cheeky little grins he had perfected by the time he was ten. Then Prudence Stanley's words registered.

“Jack? You are getting married?“ she asked, in her surprise forgetting to greet her guests. Her nephew looked at her, his smile growing tight, glanced at the woman by his side, then her aunt.

“Thank you, Mrs. Stanley. I was rather hoping to break the news to my family myself, but since you were faster, yes, we are getting married.”

From behind Esmeralda's back her husband burst into laughter.

 

X

 

Mr. Butler sat at the table, stirring in his teacup, wondering what to do with his time. Miss Fisher had strictly forbidden him from cleaning the house or tidying the bedrooms. He was on a holiday, she had insisted, not here to clean up after all her friends and family. Mr. Butler currently wouldn't have minded cleaning in the slightest. Cleaning calmed his nerves. And he had seen some specks of dust in the sitting room. But he didn't dare go against his Mistress's wishes and really, he felt tired. Old and tired and useless. The spoon swirled through the amber liquid with little point to it. He didn't take sugar, in difference to her. Right now he missed her silly little habits so much it hurt.

A knock at the door disturbed his silent musing. Stunned, Mr. Butler got his feet. Who could visit at this time? Or had Miss Fisher forgotten something? A tiny little idea let his heart beat faster. He had trouble hiding his disappointment, when he opened the door to Mrs. Weatherspoon, the owner of the villa. Politely and firmly as it was his nature, the servant denied any further help with settling in and sent the woman on her way without her telling him any more about her five grandchildren. After shutting the door tightly, he returned to the kitchen. A slight wind had picked up, wafting the smell of the lake through the open windows. He stepped to the French door to close it, when he heard someone clear her throat loudly behind him. Mr. Butler turned, paling, when he spotted the woman who was leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Good morning,” Riya Santi said, her calmness promising anger lurking right underneath the surface.

“Good morning,” he replied, without moving. Mr. Butler's heart was beating so hard, he feared it would jump out of his chest. He wanted to ask what on earth she was doing here. Wanted either his suspicions or hopes confirmed, wanted to yell, cry and throw dishes. Instead, he took a cup out of the cabinet.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Thank you.”

They sat down, opposite each other and drank tea in silence. He watched her stir five spoons of sugar into her cup and a strange calmness came to him. Maybe things would be all right, after all.

 

X

 

“You didn't think of mentioning this yesterday?” Olivia protested on sitting down at the breakfast table. “Iris, you were always as thick as thieves. What do you say to that?”

To her surprise her daughter blushed.

“She knew,” Jack grinned embarrassed, trading a look with his cousin.

“Rather accidentally,” Iris admitted. “I yelled at him for having a fling that proved to be rather serious. He showed me the ring.”

“A beautiful ring it is, too,” Esmeralda Cox-Stafford stated, taking Phryne's hand, who let her, despite being rather attached to the independence of her fingers. “Dear God, Jack. You should have said something.”

Jack smiled uncomfortably. He didn't enjoy being the focus of attention. Really, if he was honest, he hadn't expected their decision to be such a big deal. People got married all the time. And the truth was, he had intended to introduce Phryne simply as Miss Fisher – not as his future wife. It might be strange, ambitious even, but he wanted them to love her as the woman she was, not as some strange part of his life that they couldn't avoid. But, Mrs. Stanley had put an end to that plan and now they sat here, discussing wedding details and being berated for not sharing this before they had even walked through the door. He looked at Phryne, who was currently being cross-examined by his two Aunts, with Esmeralda being nervously excited and Olivia openly curious. If Miss Fisher was uncomfortable, she didn't show it. The entrance of a woman with light red hair and a rather fancy dress, absorbed his attention and the room fell silent.

Walter Cox-Stafford, who had been nurturing his teacup in quiet amusement, rose.

“May I introduce my assistant, Miss Madelyn Spencer? Miss Spencer, my family.”

There was almost something like a hinted curtsey in the young woman's gestures, as she nodded at the colourful collection of people. 

“And judging from the look on her face, there is trouble lurking in my business, so please do excuse me.” 

After he had left, chatter picked up again. Luckily, the subject had changed, and Miss Fisher finally got a chance to examine her company a little closer.

Beside Iris, who she remembered well, sat a slightly younger woman with a strong resemblance to her, with equally dark hair and big eyes, those ones however sparkling in a muddy shade of green. Despite her put-together appearance, there was a rebellious spark about the girl, which might have been just why Mac had ended up on her other side. The women were talking animatedly at the moment and this coupled with the fact that Hazel Morgan had been utterly silent during the whole wedding discussion, which didn't seem to be a habit of hers, aroused a faint suspicion in Phryne. She didn't linger on it though. There were so many more people to discover. The man by Iris' side didn't hold her interest for long. Rupert Walker was, as Jack had described him, a nice bloke who had “nothing wrong with him”. Averagely handsome, rather funny and obviously not poor. A gentleman and, from what she could tell about Iris, a good match. How fortunate for them both.

Beside him sat a dashing young man, probably Samuel, the young son of the Cox-Staffords. Golden haired, blue eyed and with the air of someone who owned the world. Studying law, he probably actually believed that too. His sister was pretty much the opposite; about 15 years his senior, she had the same golden hair, but on her it looked rather bland, as if life had washed out the colour. She was the only one at the table who didn't seem to be enjoying herself. On her lap sat a toddler of unknown gender who babbled silently along, mostly ignored by the adults. Looking at Laura's husband Fred, Phryne had a slight suspicion why the woman seemed to exude such utter boredom. Fred Simmens-Cox-Stafford was the impersonation of nothingness. Brownish hair, greyish eyes, a suit that was certainly tailored but which didn't fit nonetheless. Miss Fisher suppressed a yawn just looking at him. No wonder that Olivia was busy chattering with her daughter, her table partner really was not worth talking to. Olivia Morgan however was certainly worth a second look. With the same brunette hair as her children, even though her eyes were of a darker shade of blue than Iris's, it was also quite clear where her daughters had gotten their understated sense of fashion from. She was certainly someone to whom Phryne sensed, she needed to prove herself. If Jack's mother had been anything like her sister, she understood. 

Esmeralda Cox-Stafford was indeed an awkward species. She certainly looked like a lady, with a long thin frame stuffed in expensive robes. The kind of woman that you would have expected cold elegance and stiff etiquette from. However, the way she talked and moved belied her exterior, even more than a certain twinkle in her eyes. The effect was astounding and Phryne felt herself drawn to her, mostly out of curiosity but also because there was clearly a warm heart beating in that flat chest. Which was probably the reason, why she put up with Aunt P, who hadn't let up about the history of gold mining in both their families for the last half hour. 

Beside her, Jane looked around with the same curiosity as her foster mother. Their eyes locked for a moment and they shared a knowing grin. Phryne felt relieved. So Jane didn't think them all that horrible either. Jack really had blown the hostility to be expected out of proportion. Happily Miss Fisher took the last bite of her toast, while Walter Cox-Stafford slipped back into the room almost unnoticed. So his business problems hadn't been overly dramatic. He leaned over Dot, who had found a place between his empty chair and Jane for some reason or other and obviously made a funny comment, as Miss Fisher's companion burst into giggles. With a satisfied grin he sat back down, engaging her in conversation. 

Phryne's eyes returned to Jack, who sat wedged between his uncle and Mac, being currently ignored by both of them, instead absorbing himself in a cup of coffee and anxiously half listening to random conversations. Phryne's heart went out to him. She couldn't help but wonder, why he was he so utterly scared of these people's judgement. Not a single one of them had shown any sign of unkindness, save perhaps the thin line in which Laura's lips were pressed together. She longed for a quiet moment alone with him and luckily they soon got the chance, as breakfast ended and they were ushered out into the gardens. 

The grounds of Wombat Hall consisted of a collection of little gardens littered around the grey walls. Some were almost wild, overgrown with flowers and old trees, others carefully manicured and framed by hedges. A big orchard at the north-end smelled faintly of the ripe peaches that hung in glistening reds and oranges between the green leaves. Phryne walked in silence on Jack's arm, till they reached a small iron gate, leading through a stone wall.

“This is where I spent all my summer holidays when I was a child,” Jack smiled, turning the rusty key in the lock. It was cool in here, in the shade of trees littered with no particular concept through the green grass. Ivy grew over the stone walls almost covering them, which together with the spots of light falling through the roof of leaves, dipped the whole place in a magical green. Phryne felt like she had taken the wrong turn and accidentally stumbled into a fairytale. Jack led her to a bench formed of wrought iron, overlooking a small pond from which a curious fish watched them with round black eyes.

“It is not going to start talking to us, is it?” Miss Fisher asked.

The Inspector glanced at her with some curiosity. Phryne felt the need to explain herself.

“It is like a fairytale, Jack. This whole place has a strange quality to it.”

“I fear that is rather undeniable,” he grinned, throwing a small pebble in the direction of the curious fish who swam off, pouting.

“Despite that, your family strikes me as rather charming. In an odd kind of way.”

Jack Robinson couldn't hide his relief.

“I believe you have met with their approval,” he breathed, picking up another pebble.

“You seem surprised,” she stated in good humour. Now he finally looked at his lover.

“I am not. You are utterly charming,” Jack smiled, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Phryne bit her lip in expectation of a kiss, when the scream cut through the mild air.

 


	8. Lavender

Before either of them had had a moment for thought, they were already chasing around the grey stonewalls. Familiar adrenaline was pumping through DI Robinson's veins, shaking off the lead of weeks of doing nothing without any effort at all. As though a heavy blanket had been lifted from him. They passed confused people on their way. Some had heard the blood-curdling scream, others hadn't, but neither knew what was going on and the detectives didn't hang around to calm them. Someone else could take care of that. They were on the hunt again and damn, it felt good. On the stairs a shaken looking woman came towards them.

“She's dead,” she cried. “I only wanted to see if the office needed to be dusted and now she's dead.”

Miss Fisher took the woman by the shoulders.

“Who is dead?”

The woman looked at her as if for the first time – which actually was the case.

“Miss Spencer,” ahe said, more calmly.

The detectives locked eyes. Both of them remembered the pretty face of Uncle Walter's assistant, who had interrupted their breakfast.

“Inspector Robinson,” Jack introduced himself and commanded: “Show us where she died.” He was already halfway up the stairs. Other people had started to join them, loudly chattering, as Mrs. Roman lead the way to the office. Before a dark wooden door, she stopped, with shaking fingers pulling a key from her apron.

“I locked the door, so nobody would trample into the crime-scene,” she explained with some embarrassment. “The detectives in my novels never want anybody to touch anything.”

The Inspector nodded at this, sharing another look with Miss Fisher. Someone using their brain. That was certainly an unusual occurrence.

The smell of paper wafted through the now open door, as they stepped in a small front office. A leather padded door led through to another room, probably Walter Cox-Stafford's place of work.

“Stay here, please. Nobody walks through this door,” Jack Robinson said, morphing from a nephew and cousin into an Inspector. Nobody dared protest.

“Show us where you found her, please,” he turned the word to the housekeeper, who with a mixture of pride and dread walked up front. Phryne followed behind her lover, wondering what the others made of her intrusion. But then, she was a detective and they were a team. Partners in crime long before they had been partners in love.

“I don't understand.”

The housekeeper stopped sharp, stuttering.

“She was right here.”

She knelt on the floor and looked under the huge desk, as if someone could have hidden the body underneath it, then patted the carpet stretched over the floor. After a moment she got to her feet and looked at the silent detectives, appearing flushed and confused.

“Inspector, I swear, Miss Spencer's body was right here not five minutes ago. I am not crazy.”

She sounded slightly hysterical at this stage and the Inspector laid a calming hand on her arm.

“I didn't say you were, Ms...”

“Roman,” the woman stated quietly. “Mrs. Roman. I have been the housekeeper here for a decade. And I have never seen anything that wasn't there!”

Jack looked down at Phryne, who was crouched down at the place the housekeeper had indicated the location of their corpse. She looked up to shake her head. So no traces. Gently, he pushed the lady onto a chair and poured her a glass of brandy that she drained in one big gulp. She looked like she was seriously worried about losing her mind, confirming his suspicion that she really had seen something. People who were really insane usually didn't think they were.

“Tell me more, Mrs. Roman. What did the body look like?”

The housekeeper looked up at him. She was quite pretty it occurred to him. Not young anymore, but still quite pretty.

“She lay right there, where the lady is kneeling,” she said, stretching out a shaking finger. And there was blood all through her dress. Her whole chest was covered in blood. With her eyes rolled up. It was really ghastly.”

“Did you see anyone else?” Jack asked, scribbling in his notebook.

The lady shook her head.

“No, I didn't. Too be honest, I locked the door also because I was scared of the murderer. I thought he might get me, if I stayed around, before I could tell anyone.”

“Well, that would have been quite impossible with your scream.” Phryne smiled sweetly. For the first time in their conversation, Mrs. Roman addressed the lady.

“I didn't scream, Ma'am! I heard it seconds after I had left. I thought, maybe someone else might have found...”

She pressed a hand to her mouth.

“You don't think she was still alive, do you?”

Jack shook his head slowly. It all made little sense. But the woman wouldn't have made this up, would she?

“Well, she could not have run, since you were holding the key. How many keys are there, Mrs. Roman, do you know?”

The housekeeper stared into the distance for a moment, making him wonder if she had finally succumbed to her shock, but her lips were silently moving.

“I believe, there is only two. Mine and the Masters.”

“And you had yours on yourself the whole time?” Jack prompted.

“Right here in my pocket,” she stated proudly.

“Alright, would you mind handing it to me. This is a crime-scene and you were quite right. Nobody should disturb it.”

The lady stood stiffly, giving her prized possession to the Inspector.

“You really are a proper Inspector, are you?” she asked suspiciously.

“As real as your discovery,” Jack replied, smiling.

She nodded at this, obviously relieved and left. When she had shut the door behind herself, Jack turned to Phryne.

“So, what do you think? Do we have an over eager crime reader or a murder at our hands?”

Miss Fisher held up a small, sparkling piece of jewellery.

“Unless your uncle is in the habit of receiving female visitors under his desk, I would conclude the latter.”

Jack took the hair brooch from her fingers.

“A murder then. Can't have a holiday without one, Miss Fisher, can you?”

The grin they shared was not at all disappointed.

 

X

 

Waves splashed over two pairs of naked feet. Trouser legs that weren't used to this kind of treatment were rolled up over Mr. Butler's thin, pale legs, while he sat in the grass, wondering if this was what people enjoyed about a holiday: Getting wet feet. His lover seemed to have no such thoughts. Her toes were outstretched into the surf, her white dress flowing in a soft breeze around her, her face turned up to the sun. She was beautiful, he found and it hurt.

“Why are you here?” he asked, not unfriendly.

“Because you are,” she said, without missing a beat.

Tobias Butler didn't answer for a while.

“You got my letter?”

It wasn't a question. She hummed approval, without turning her face away from the late morning sun.

“And yet, you've come?”

“No.” Now she finally looked around. “Because of that, I've come.”

Mr. Butler looked at Riya Santi as if she had lost her mind. There was steel in her eyes and his returned to the lake, where the water still moved in calming waves.

“I can not let you believe, I am having a dalliance with Admiral Winterbottom,” she pointed out. “And I am quite disappointed, that you would think so.”

Mr. Butler stayed silent for a while, his heart pounding in his ears. Unbeknownst to him, his hand had fisted into the damp grass.

“You had one while you were married,” he finally said into the wind.

“I did. But you are not Akim.”

That was undeniable, Mr. Butler found and so didn't answer.

“And while the Admiral might have a certain interest in renewing our romance, I do not,” she said, getting to her feet. Tobias Butler's eyes followed her, as she shook the sand of her dress, her hair fluttering in the breeze.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his throat tightening. She couldn't have really just come to set him straight and save her pride, could she?

“I am going to find myself a landscape, Tobias Butler. Because I am furious right now and I am much better at painting angry pictures than leading angry conversations. I will talk to you later.”

And with that she was gone. Mr. Butler sat a long time there, staring out over the water. Then a smile spread over his face.

 

X

 

“So, is she dead or not?” Walter Cox-Stafford asked, after having patiently listened to his nephew for what felt like forever.

“There is no way of telling, since her body is missing,” Jack explained. “But at the moment we are assuming that she is.”

Chatter rose across the entrance hall, where staff, family and guests had gathered.

“Can we please all stay calm!?” Inspector Robinson's voice sounded over everybody. “If anyone of you can think of helpful information, if you have seen or heard anything, come talk to me or Miss Fisher. Otherwise I'd like Miss Spencer's address and the name of her next-of-kin to start with.”

The last words were aimed at his uncle and aunt, who understandably looked rather out of sorts, but were both nodding agreement. Esmeralda Cox-Stafford slipped away quietly to find the required things. Nobody stepped forward and so Jack Robinson took the piece of paper from his Aunt's hands and offered his arm to the Honourable Miss Fisher.

“We will be back for tea,” she promised, her eyes finding Jane. To her relief she noted Dot had draped a protective arm around her ward's shoulders. It was funny, it occurred to her, how she had worried less about Jane the other side of the world than leaving her alone for a few hours here. Of course the possibility there might be a murderer hiding in this house was also a consideration. With a quick greeting they left for the waiting car outside that would bring them to their destination. Seconds later, two people walked through the door.

“Children! You missed all the excitement.”

To the astonishment of a blonde girl, maybe five years of age, trailing behind her parents, the two were wrapped up in several sets of arms, before they had time to greet anyone. Finally Will Robinson had caught enough breath to speak.

“Are my eyes playing tricks on me or was that just Jack with some fancy bird climbing into your car, Uncle Walter?”

Booming, if still rather shaky laughter sounded through the old walls.

“You are correct. Your brother has found himself a Baroness and a murder.”

Three pairs of confused eyes were turned to the master of the house, while his wife looked at him disapprovingly.

“I think we should all have a calming cup of tea,” Olivia stated into the resulting break. “And then we will tell you everything.”

 

X

 

Madelyn Spencer's house was a tiny cottage at the end of a small road at the edge of town. It didn't look overly lived in, which was probably explained by the fact that she had moved to Daylesford only three months ago, taking up work at Wombat hall. A few stray flowers bloomed in the front yard, that looked rather uncared for – a sacrilege in a small community like this one.

“So, what do you think happened?” Miss Fisher asked, while breaking in with an ease that made Jack smile to himself.

“Maybe her killer let her disappear. There might have been another key, Mrs. Roman didn't know about.”

“What would be the point though?” Phryne replied, pushing the door open and stepping into a gloomy living room. “He must have known that her body had been discovered and that we would look for her killer.”

“True. And there is also the scream,” The Inspector pointed out. “Unless it was the victim who was really not quite dead yet and the killer came to finish her off.”

“All rather mysterious.” Phryne Fisher concluded, turning into the kitchen. But the inside of the house was a bare as the outside. There was little that actually pointed to Miss Spencer or anyone else having lived here. Phryne inspected two wineglasses drying off beside the sink.

“What is also strange is the brooch,” she said, returning the glass to where she had found it.

“What is strange about that?” The Inspector's voice asked from the living room, where he flicked through magazines that certainly wouldn't solve his murder.

“Why would she wear a piece like this to work?”

“You wore one for breakfast this morning,” he pointed out, suddenly standing right behind her and breathing warmly into her neck. Phryne felt goosebumps covering her arms, as she stepped out of his mesmerising nearness.

“True. But I am not the assistant of a country-business man.”

DI Robinson's eyebrows rose at that.

“Oh, lets not play games, Jack. I like my glittering things, but it's not particularly common to wear jewellery like this to an office job. Which makes this all the more mysterious.”

“She might have had another appointment after work,” Jack pointed out, pushing a book back onto it's shelve. A small piece of paper fell from it, while he did so.

“What's that?” Phryne asked, watching her lover pick it up. A collection of numbers was littered over the sheet in blue ink, making little sense to either of them. The Inspector sighed.

“I wish, someone would for once just write down the name of the killer instead of leaving mysterious clues behind,” he grumbled, shoving the piece of evidence into his pocket.

Miss Fisher grinned at that.

“But what would be the fun in that, Inspector?”

She had snuck off to the back of the house, before he had a chance to answer her rhetorical question. Despite his grumpiness, Jack couldn't help but feel happy. Of course, a young dead woman wasn't a cheerful occasion, but still digging through someone else's belongings with Miss Fisher in an attempt to solve a puzzle was familiar, calming. With a start he realised, that somehow he had feared, after the serial-killer that had taken both of their breath away for a while, that they would never be the same again. That somehow, a normal murder-investigation would be impossible, unthinkable. He had been wrong and the discovery made him smile.

“Jack?” a voice called from the bedroom. DI Robinson knew what the tone meant. Miss Fisher had found something. And of course, when he stepped trough the doorframe, she was holding up a sock. A single, black sock that would definitely not have been worn by strawberry blonde assistants.

“I believe, our victim might have had some male company,” Miss Fisher concluded, while shoving the smelly piece of clothing in front of her lover's face. Jack's nose curled at the waft of cheese he got and he turned away. Phryne smirked.

“A lover?” he asked. “That would certainly have been scandalous in a place like this.” The Inspector rather hesitantly accepted the sock from his fiancée's fingers, before opening some drawers, finding nothing more of interest. If Miss Spencer had indeed had a lover, they had been rather careful.

“Maybe your uncle can be of some help there. Surely he would have heard any rumours about his assistant before anyone else did.”

Jack nodded, closing the cabinet with a disappointing clicking sound.

“I don't think there is much to be found here,” he finally stated, effectively ending their visit to the near barren house of their supposed murder victim. But when they stepped back out of the door into the bright Australian sun, the street in front of the small cottage was empty.

“Wasn't he supposed to wait for us?” Miss Fisher prompted after a moment. Jack Robinson let his eyes follow the road, but there was nothing to be seen of the black motorcar that had brought them here, leave alone it's driver.

“I guess we had a small misunderstanding. But it isn't too far to Wombat Hall from here. I know a short cut.”

Miss Fisher grasped the offered arm and followed her lover across the meadow in three-inch-heels. Soon the grass gave way to seemingly endless stretching fields of golden wheat and purple lavender. The sun stood high in the sky by now, bees were buzzing around the couple of detectives. They had talked for a while about their mysteriously disappeared murder victim, but now they were walking in comfortable silence. Miss Fisher had let go of her lover's arm some time ago. Out here she was not trying to be a lady, she was just Phryne Fisher and there was no need to hold onto him. Jack Robinson wasn't going anywhere, a reassuring ring on her finger told her every day. It was still rather hard to wrap her head around the fact that she was engaged. She had never thought that she would ever get married and yet, it felt right. Their relationship was like a living, breathing being, twisting and turning in its own free will, leading them to places neither of them had ever seen. Of course, Jack had been married before. She glanced at him from the side. But something told her, that being with Rosie had not been the same kind of experience. Phryne wondered, if he felt it too. That they were evolving into something new together, more than the sum of their parts.

“Jack?” she asked, attempting to grab his hand, but didn't get any further. There must have been a small dip hidden under the wild growing grass. At least she would swear later it had been that and not a sudden loss of her ability to balance on those damn heels. But with a small shriek, the Honourable Phryne Fisher ended up in a lavender field.

“Phryne!” she heard Jack call. Then he was kneeling beside her, while she was still dazedly staring into the blue sky suddenly in plain view and taking in the intoxicating smell of the flowers she was bedded in.

“Have you hurt yourself?” he asked, helping her to a sitting position. Phryne shook her head, not sure if she should burst into laughter or blush in embarrassment.

“Well, that was rather inelegant,” she finally pointed out.

“Nobody saw it but me and a few dozen bees, Miss Fisher,” Jack grinned, pushing back onto his feet and stretching out a hand to help her up. But something sparked in Phryne's head and she took his fingers but made no attempt to rise.

“Remind me to not let you talk me into hikes like this one again, Inspector,” she purred, pulling him gently back down to her side. Inspector Robinson wasn't sure, where exactly this was leading, but something told him not to argue and so he let himself sink beside her into the astonishingly soft bed of small purple flowers. Before he could assemble his senses, she had already pulled him into a kiss, the smell of lavender mixing with her skin into an intoxicating perfume.

“Then again, there might be some upsides to hiking,” he whispered hoarsely, while her hands found their way under his shirt.

“Are there now, Inspector?”

A pair of lips caressing his neck rendered him unable to answer. Blindly he reached for her warm body, pulling her closer, while his fingers sought out her curves through the thin fabric of her dress.

“God, Phryne,” he moaned, when she gently bit into the nape of his neck. It was unfair with what ease she could undo him. There were in public for God's sake, even if it was only shared by a few dozen bees and yet, there was no stopping. Her taste on the tip of his tongue, her smell in his nose, joined by a billion tiny purple calyces, Jack felt like a bee searching for her nectar, drawn in by blind instinct. The hunger making his heart beat faster was ravenous and there was no sating it, but by exploring every inch of her soft, ivory skin, with her shuddering breath ghosting over his ear, her nails digging into his back, leaving angry red marks. When he moved, her breath hitched, and he wondered briefly, if the bed of flowers could be comfortable with his weight on top of her, but the way her moans echoed in his ears, her cheeks flushed, she cared as little about that, as she did about the fate of their crumpling clothes. She pulled him tighter, closer, as if trying to melt them together and Jack obliged, his lashes fluttering shut again, while he sought out her lips in the haze of lust and lavender. Drunk with the sheer intensity of the love pulsing through his veins, Jack searched for his nectar and a couple of dozen bees stopped confusedly in their buzzing, when he finally found it.

 


	9. Hazelnut

It was early afternoon by the time the two slightly dishevelled detectives walked hand in hand through the rose covered gate to Wombat hall. The rest of the party was littered throughout the gardens, mostly under a couple of pear trees that were spending enough shadow for the assembled family members. Aunt Esmeralda was the first to notice their arrival and hurried towards them.

“There you are. We were starting to get worried. Rudolf returned some time ago, saying you sent him away. We weren't sure what that meant.”

“Probably, that you should invest in a hearing aid for your driver,” Jack grinned with no real annoyance. He had enjoyed his time alone with Miss Fisher, even though sweat was now pouring down the back of his shirt and their clothes had suffered a bit from their roll in the lavender – even though they smelled heavenly. Obviously his aunt noticed it too, as she was currently staring at them in open confusion.

“We took the shortcut across the gully,” the Inspector finally explained, before she could ask. “And Miss Fisher had a slight incident with a lavender field.”

Phryne laughed at this.

“I fear my heels aren't made for cross-country walking. Mind you, it is beautiful countryside.”

There was a dangerous glitter in Aunt Esmeralda's eyes. So she knew. She didn't ask however, but smiled broadly, taking them back to the party. Phryne Fisher was relieved. She had been right about Jack's aunt, there was more to her than her surface promised.

“Will, Wendy, this is the Honourable Phryne Fisher, Jack's fiancée.”

The lady of the house obviously enjoyed her introduction and Phryne played along. With polite friendliness she uttered greetings, shook hands and smiled. Jack's brother looked nothing like him she realised with some curiosity. He was taller and broader with a round, friendly face. Actually her reminded her more of a young Walter. But the way he moved was exactly the same as Jack and his voice might have been even a shade deeper than her Inspector's. She watched the brothers greet each other and something about it touched her as pained. They were nice to each other, familiar even, but there was a certain distance that she couldn't lay her fingers on. She was shaken out of her reverie by a little girl approaching her.

“I'm Lizzy,” she said, extending her hand.

“Hello, Lizzy,” Phryne said, shaking the girl's hand very politely, holding back a grin. “I believe, Jack has told me about you.”

“I'm uncle Jack's niece,” the girl stated, without blinking an eyelid.

“Yes, I kind of figured that,” Miss Fisher smiled. “He did mention he had an incredibly adorable niece.”

“Yeah, he says silly things like that.”

This was delivered with such calmness that Phryne Fisher had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into laughter.

“Yes, yes, he does.”

She glanced up to see the mother of the girl watching them with warm eyes. Wendy Robinson might not have been a classic beauty, she was a curvy woman with straw blonde hair, fitting perfectly to the country-side setting she currently walked in, but there was something about her, an aura of calm happiness, that made Phryne take to her straight away.

“Please excuse me,” the girl said. “I haven't said hello to Uncle Jack yet.” And off she went. The friendly politeness got lost somewhere on the way and instead, Lizzy Robinson threw herself with something near a howl into her Uncle's arms who caught her with ease and picked her up.

“You have grown, since I last saw you,” he stated calmly, holding the girl over his head.

“That's because I'm growing fast, Mummy says.”

“Your Mummy is a very clever lady,” Jack said, relieved that his niece seemed to have forgiven him easily for not dropping by as much as he'd used to. He set the girl gently back on her feet.

“Yes she is. But your lady is very beautiful.”

Jack proudly glanced at Phryne who was watching them with Wendy, while the women chatted along easily.

“Yes, isn't she?”

“Does that mean, Aunt Rosie isn't coming anymore?” Lizzy asked and silence fell. Throats were cleared and Jack could feel Will stiffen beside him, ready to sweep his girl away and berate her for being so nosy. But he was quicker.

“No, Lizzy, Aunt Rosie is not coming back. Her and me just didn't get along very well anymore. That happens sometimes.”

For a moment, everybody was holding their breath. Seemingly oblivious to the screeching halt she had put to everybody's conversation, Lizzy Robinson nodded and then smiled, extending her hand.

“Have you seen my tree, Uncle Jack? It has grown even more than me.”

Jack searched out Phryne's eyes as he was dragged over the grass towards the back of the house, where trees had been planted for the birth of every child in the family since Wombat Hall had been in the hands of the Cox-Staffords. To his relief, she didn't look like the mention of his first wife had upset her much and he returned his attention to the girl chattering along with an air of utter satisfaction to finally have her uncle to herself again.

In fact, Miss Fisher, in whose hand magically had appeared a glass of champagne, was less worried about Rosie's name falling in itself, but more by the stony expression on Iris Walker's face. When Jack's cousin realised, who was watching her, she forced herself to smile at Miss Fisher, which didn't make the detective in the slightest bit more comfortable. She excused herself from Wendy and Esmeralda and walked over to the woman, wondering how to approach her.

“Good afternoon, Miss Walker,” she smiled sweetly, settling beside the woman who looked like she wanted to run away. Instead she nodded politely.

“Miss Fisher.”

“This estate is very beautiful,” Miss Fisher tried after a long, uncomfortable moment of silence. “Did you spend your childhood holidays here too?”

A fond and genuine smile crept over the pretty features of Mrs. Walker.

“We all did. Will was a pest back then, Amanda and Laura wanted to play princess all the time and Hazel was constantly blubbering, because everybody was older and mean to her. But Jack was always hiding somewhere with his nose in a book. I think he devoured Hamlet, when he was twelve years old.”

“Heavy reading,” Miss Fisher pointed out.

Iris Walker laughed, half drifting off into the photo albums in her head.

“True, but that never stopped him. I'll never forget the feeling of lying in the grass of the enchanted garden and listening to Jack reading silly poems to me.”

The feeling was actually faster than the realisation coming along with it. Something about this statement deeply unsettled Phryne, throwing her off her inner balance. The picture of Jack and Iris lying in that garden with Ivy growing over its walls, a curious fish watching them. There was no doubt what the enchanted garden was and Jack had shared that he had spent his boyhood days there – but he had failed to mention the company. Phryne swallowed hard, letting her eyes fly over the assembled people. She guessed every single one of them had stories like this one to tell, of Jack when he was ten or 15 or 25, doing silly things, clever things, lovely things, long before she had entered his life. She encountered an emotion at the thought, that in want of a better word, she would have called jealousy. Here were the people that loved Jack too, knew him, cared for him. For the first time in their acquaintance, Phryne realised, that he wasn't just “her” Inspector. He was also “their” Jack. She had to share him.

The notion confused her somewhat and so she was rather glad when Rupert Walker wandered over the grass towards them, luring his wife away with some whispered words. Iris smiled geuninely at Miss Fisher as she excused herself and Phryne tried her hardest to return the smile, but she was too deep in thought to really care. She turned, looking for a familiar face, but found only Jack's family - no Inspector, no Mac, not Dot, no Jane. Thankfully, also no Aunt P. Mrs. Stanley had redeemed Walter Cox-Stafford's promise of giving her a private tour through the halls and he had willingly obliged.

“The girls headed for the lake some time ago,” A friendly voice beside her said. “Would you like me to show you the way?” Olivia Morgan asked. Phryne switched her smile back on and shook her head. She was Miss Fisher, for God's sake. She could deal for a while on her own. But the dark blue eyes surveying her, seemed to look right through her facade.

“I'm sure, they can take care of themselves.” Phryne smiled, draining her glass in one big gulp.

 

X

 

In fact, the girls were currently enjoying themselves, possibly even Laura. She had joined them for company, but didn't seem overly fond of bathing and instead sat in the shade, playing with her child, who had turned out to be a boy by the name of Fred junior. Dot was currently chasing Jane through the knee-deep water, trying to splash her, while the laughing redhead escaped her with ease. Mac was leaning against the trunk of a small tree, fully clothed, but with her sleeves rolled up, carving at a piece of driftwood with her pocket knife. She looked up to watch Hazel come towards her in her bathing suit, water drops glistening on her tanned legs, her long hair now undone and sticking wetly to her back. The doctor looked back down quickly, while the brunette grabbed a towel and fell beside her into the warm grass.

“So you work as a doctor in Melbourne, do you?” she asked when she had caught her breath.

“Yes, I do.”

“Must be an exciting occupation,” the girl smiled, looking at Mac. Elisabeth had no choice but to tear her attention away from the piece of wood in her hands. There was a drop of water hanging in Hazels dark lashes. Up close it was evident that her eyes fit her name perfectly. They were of a earthy shade of green, with tiny dots of gold sprinkled through them. Mac found herself gulping.

“Since my friends seem to be mostly busy chasing killers and getting their lifes into danger quite regularly, my occupation pales somewhat in comparison,” she heard herself say.

“Must be hard having friends like that,” Hazel stated, stretching out in the sun.

Mac threw the driftwood aside and buried the blade into the ground.

“Phryne is brilliant,” she said. “And she is the most loyal of friends.”

She felt the look of her companion burn on her skin even hotter than the sun. Finally she turned her head, wanting to ask impatiently why she was being stared at.

“Are you in love with her?” Hazel Morgan asked levelly. Mac wasn't sure, what surprised her more. That someone guessed her secret 'abnormality' so easily or that the woman had come to the conclusion that she was in love with her best friend. Probably it was simply the bluntness with which the question was asked that shocked her. It took her a moment to shut her mouth.

“No. I love Phryne, but not in that way.”

“You do talk an awful lot about her.”

Elisabeth MacMillan chose to ignore that comment. It was true, she talked about Miss Fisher a lot. Because she liked her, enjoyed her company and was proud to call her a friend – and because Phryne's life was that much more exciting than her own. Romantic love didn't come into it. She didn't tell Hazel that. Instead she decided to go for honesty.

“I was with someone, a bit less than two years ago. Daisy; she was murdered.”

The younger woman stayed utterly silent at this. Quiet laughter was heard from further down the beach, where Dot had finally succeeded.

“Phryne and Jack found her killer and made sure I didn't go to prison,” the doctor smiled. “Well, actually Dot did first. The murderess wasn't happy with her.”

“I'm sorry,” a quiet voice beside her said with absolute sincerity. Mac had almost forgotten, who she was talking to.

“It's been a long time ago,” she said, picking up her knife and snapping it shut. The soft breeze blew some dust into her eyes, making them feel a little more watery than she would have liked.

 

X

 

By the time the table was set for the afternoon tea, Phryne Fisher was pleasantly tipsy and had engagend in more meaningless conversation than she had in years. She needed to get out of here. She excused herself from the company of Will and Walter, nodded at Aunt P, who looked like she was just about to launch onto her niece and stumbled up the steps to the veranda. The house was cool and quiet and Phryne took a moment to lean against a wall, closing her eyes. She wanted to like Jack's family and really, she did, but they were too much to battle on her own. She longed for some company who didn't ask her what she was doing, didn't want to hear any suspenseful detective stories from her and certainly didn't enquire after her wedding date. The Inspector hadn't reappeared in an hour and a half, lost somewhere in the gardens with his little niece, who he probably read stories to as well. Phryne carefully beat her head against the cool wall, trying to shake some sense into herself. She was not going to start being jealous of Jack's attention to five year old girls.

It was bad enough that she was actually wondering now, if Iris's hostility towards her was only grounded in her friendship with Rosie or if it was at all possible that there was more behind it?

Not that she seriously considered any romantic entanglement, yet, the idea of the two teenagers lying in the soft grass together, Jack reading Shakespeare to Iris, seemed a bit much. Miss Fisher shook the thoughts off as fast as she could and slipped up the stairs. She needed to have another look at the crime scene, needed to get her head back on the job. There was no point in pondering what she could not change.

Just when she pulled up the seam of her dress to reach the knife in her garter that would ease her way through the office door, a hand fell onto her shoulder.

“You are not intending to break into a crime scene, are you, Miss Fisher?” a voice full of humour asked. She spun, finding herself trapped between the door and Jack Robinson, who looked at her with sparkling eyes.

“What if I am?” she asked grinning mischievously. He leaned in.

“I suppose I would be forced to stop you.”

Now he was so near that the smell of his skin took her breath away. Before she could come up with an answer, he closed her mouth with his lips, trapping her body against the door with his own. Phryne could hear her blood pound in her ears, as her fingers slipped into his hair. When he pulled back, his eyes had darkened and she felt silly for having worried.

“We'd best get through this door, before anyone sees us, Inspector.”

Jack murmured his approval, without moving or releasing her.

“Jack!” she laughed, gently pushing him back to free herself. Finally the DI surrendered to the demands of the job at hand and produced the key to unlock the door. Silence greeted them between the now untouched shelves full of folders. Jack Robinson switched on the lamp.

“I am going to have to head over to Hepburn Springs tonight to inform Miss Spencer's sister of her death. I would prefer to be actually sure she is dead, however,” he stated conversationally, riffling through the desk of the victim.

“Have you talked to the local police?” Phryne asked from somewhere in Uncle Walter's office.

“Yes, I just got off the phone. They are only too happy to hand over the case. Supposedly they are busy with a horde of stolen ducks.”

Miss Fisher's head popped through the door.

“Ducks?”

“Big birds, like to swim. You know, ducks,” Jack grinned, pulling open a drawer that housed a diverse collection of pencils.

Miss Fisher rolled her eyes and returned to her search for something, anything, that could give them a hint of where Madelyn Spencer might have vanished to or why someone would have killed her.

“I have also talked to Uncle Walter. He had noticed she seemed rather overdressed this morning, but avoided his questions about it.”

Phryne nodded into the Persian carpet, she was currently inspecting for any specks of blood. She also hadn't missed the rather fancy dress the assistant had worn when she had walked in during breakfast, but then, who was she to judge?

“Anything?” Inspector Robinson asked, stepping through the door.

“Nothing. Not a stray hair,” Phryne sighed, getting to her feet.

“Damn.”

Jack ran his hand through his hair, dishevelling his perfectly sensible cut somewhat. It gave him a look of adventure that made Miss Fisher's knees weak.

“So I will have to talk to this woman and tell her that her sister's body has vanished from a locked room. That is going to be a fun conversation.”

He slapped his flat hand against the wall in frustration, staring at the floor as if he could find the solution there.

“Do that again,” Miss Fisher said. His eyes flew up. Then it registered. He gently knocked against the wall. The hollow sound was obvious. Phryne stepped beside him and carefully they covered the wall with their knuckles.

“It's at least as big as a door,” Jack stated breathlessly. “Something like a priest hole maybe?”

“I don't believe Catholics were ever persecuted in Australia, Jack,” Phryne said sweetly, getting excited herself now. Jack didn't answer, searching the wall for the edges of the hidden door. Miss Fisher was busily inspecting the bookshelf.

“Does your Uncle read much?” she asked.

“Not if it isn't about politics or hunting,” Jack panted, from where he was crouching on the floor, still feeling in vain for any edges.

“I didn't think so.” Miss Fisher stated, pulling out a rather dusty book on Greek history that had probably stood in the same place since the 1860s. Jack looked up in surprise, when the bookshelf swung open, revealing a dark hole in the wall.

 


	10. Algae

Miss Fisher peered into the darkness, before pulling her head back and smiling at her speechless Detective-Inspector.

“Are you coming, Jack?”

He nodded, watching her pull a small torch from her handbag.

“What?” she asked, seeing his look.

“You just happened to know that we would find a secret passageway today?” he laughed, stepping through the door into the half darkness after her.

“A lady never goes out of the house without being prepared,” she replied, carefully feeling with her toes for the first step of the staircase leading into the thick blackness. Jack couldn't help but smile at this, wondering how many ladies in Australia would walk out of the house with a torch in their pearl embroidered handbag.

“You wouldn't happen to also carry your pistol in there, Miss Fisher?” he whispered into the darkness, while trying not to fall down the steep steps.

“Whatever do you think of me, Inspector? Of course I do.”

That comforted him somewhat. He would hate to think they would walk into a killer down here and _she_ wouldn't be armed. Jack suddenly felt utterly naked.

Water trickled down the stone walls, making the stairs underneath his feet slippery and he worried about Phryne and her heels. A second fall today might prove far less enjoyable. But she marched on slowly and steadily, her fingers running along the damp walls to steady herself. His own hands felt along the slimy surface with much less vigour. The smell of mould and algae lingered in the air, giving him a faint idea what the green fuzz under his fingertips contained. It didn't make their stumble through the shadows any more pleasant. Despite that, he could feel the rush in his veins, heard her heavy breathing in darkness her torch barely beat back and felt oddly happy. When the made the next turn in their long, steep walk downwards, light shimmered at the other end of a hall and Jack breathed a sigh of relief to be able to leave the claustrophobic passage. They stepped through a narrow hole in the wall and found themselves confronted with a thick wall of bushes, hiding them from the eyes of the world.

“There are some broken branches,” he pointed out, crouching on the ground. One of them had a piece of fabric fluttering in the wind.

“Definitely a piece of Miss Spencer's frock,” Miss Fisher concluded.

“Well, I think we established the exit route of our body and the killer,” The Inspector said, getting to his feet. He resisted the urge to wipe his slimy fingers on his grey suit and instead picked up the piece of evidence, before battling his way through the bush the same way the killer had taken. Jack Robinson didn't even want to think about how he looked right now. He would have to return to the villa and change before going to see Miss Spencer's sister, he had no doubt about that. A sharp thorn scratched along his cheek, causing his hand to fly up. When he finally stepped out of the thicket, he recognised the place instantly.

“The westside,” he stated. Over here the forests came right down to Wombat Hall, covering the hills raising behind it in a thick cover of lush green trees.

“The body could be anywhere,” Miss Fisher pointed out, turning on her heels. She looked rather dishevelled too, he found with fond amusement.

“We won't find her on our own,” Jack decided, climbing a shallow hill to get a better view. After a moments thought, Miss Fisher followed him. A small creek gurgled in soft curves down through the bushes, parting a bed of moss and colourful rocks. Jack crouched down to wash the grey-green slime of his hands.

“It has drawn blood,” he heard Miss Fisher saying, as she ran her fingertips gently over the scratch on his cheek. He flinched.

“Not quite how I imagined a romantic getaway,” he smiled.

“Nothing romantic about meeting the in-laws, Jack,” she replied, wiping the rest of tree from his cut with her fingertips. Jack looked rather wild, she found herself thinking, his hair touselled, his clothes creased and his face stained with grime and blood. Her stomach did a small flip. What a shame she had to share him with the rest of the world again soon. As if he had read his thoughts, the Inspector checked his watch.

“We ought to head back, Phryne.” His voice held a hint of regret that reconciled her somewhat with the idea of more hours of small talk. “There is nothing we can do out here anymore today. There are square kilometers of forest and fields. The body could be anywhere.”

“If the killer even left it here,” Miss Fisher pointed out, getting to her feet. “Why go through the trouble of dragging it down hidden stairways, just to dump it somewhere in the forest behind the house?”

Jack nodded, pulling himself upright.

“Which brings us to the question, why he went through the trouble at all? Obviously he had been discovered, so why let the body vanish?” he pondered, while they trod down the hill.

“Maybe he was hoping that we'd think Mrs. Roman hysterical.”

“But he would have to know that when we realised the assistant's disappearance, we would come to the conclusion that she wasn't.”

“Maybe he was playing for time?” Miss Fisher wondered, as they stepped around the corner of the grey stone building. They had obviously missed the beginning of the afternoon tea, as there was loud chatter and laughter coming from where a long, white table was set between the trees in the Cox-Stafford's favourite part of the garden. The detectives crept closer like two naughty children who had played in the mud in their Sunday clothes, when Jack froze. Phryne's eyes followed him to the table, where between Walter and Esmeralda there sat a man who seemed rather familiar. Miss Fisher realised why a second too late.

“Jack?!” Aunt Esmeralda exclaimed excitedly. “There you finally are. Look who arrived.” The way her voice almost flipped let Miss Fisher know that she was also nervous about this meeting.

“Hello father,” Jack said calmly. Nobody but Phryne could hear the light tremble in his voice. John Robinson had turned, looking at them with knitted brows. Miss Fisher suddenly wished she had worn her best dress, her newest lipstick or at least had freshly brushed hair and didn't look like she just stumbled out of a basement – even if she had.

“Hello son.”

Mr. Robinson stood, slowly unfolding his limbs like a gnarled tree trunk and stretched his hand out, without tearing his eyes off his son. They shook hands like strangers and Phryne watched on as if through a dream. Then the attention turned to her.

“Miss Fisher.” Jack said, with no explanation. A sparkle in his father's eyes told her that he didn't need one. John Robinson Senior's hand was warm and strong and gripped her's just a little too hard. They traded some meaningless greetings and then he returned to his chair and Phryne felt her fiancé let the breath he had been holding go.

Her fingers found his somewhere between their bodies. His hand was sweaty, his breath ragged, as if he had just run a marathon. She pressed his fingers lightly, reassuringly, before releasing him to take their place at the table. This time they were actually seated together. Obviously Esmeralda felt no need anymore to question them separately, which was a relief.   
“So what happened to you two?” Hazel asked between mouthfuls of sandwich. “You look like you have been rummaging through the attic.”

Jack took a deep gulp of wine, before answering.

“Actually, quite the opposite my dear cousin. We discovered a secret passage leading into the basement.”

An egg sandwich hit a plate, with little elegance.

“You're kidding? Hidden hallways in this old box?”

Jack smiled wryly. “Behind a bookshelf in Uncle Walter's office. Very cliché.“

Other people had been listening into the conversation and now attention rose.

“A secret passage?” Laura asked, surprising many of them with her sudden liveliness. “Did you know about that, father?”

Walter Cox-Stafford had to swallow his food, before he could provide an answer.

“I had no idea, my girl. So I have been sitting in my office every day, unaware that I am staring at a secret door? Makes me look like a right idiot, does it not?” he laughed. Some uneasy giggles joined in, but mostly people were too enthralled in the story the detectives had to tell. Miss Fisher let Jack take centre-stage. It was his audience after all. She used the opportunity to watch their reactions. Jack's father was sitting almost still, chewing quietly, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was listening nevertheless.

And someone else was watching him, she found. While everybody hung on Jack's lips, Jane's eyes were glued to John Robinson and Miss Fisher couldn't help but wonder, what her foster daughter made of him. Jane had a good sense for people. Which was probably, why she blindly trusted Jack, even though he was a copper and therefore a species of men she had learned to fear and despise during her years on the street. The girl was distracted from whatever was happening in her mind about her future grandfather by little Lizzy asking for her attention. Miss Fisher smiled and let her eyes wander further, to where Mac had found a chair again beside Hazel Morgan. It might have been Miss Fisher's imagination, but their chairs seemed to be a little closer than they had been ten minutes ago and Hazel was whispering something to Mac. With a satisfied feeling in her stomach, Miss Fisher returned her thoughts to Jack, who was just describing the evidence they had found in the bushes.

“Have you thought that maybe the killer is playing with you?” a calm, deep voice asked. Eyes flew up to watch the two John Robinsons lock eyes over the table.

“What do you mean?” Jack asked his father.

“It's quite convenient, don't you think? The hidden passageway, the damp stair case and the nice little piece of dress hung into the bushes.”

Under the eyes of everyone the retired policeman finished the last bite of his sandwich and swallowed it down with a gulp of wine. “Someone sent you on a little adventure trip.”

“So how else do you propose the killer has escaped the office with a corpse? Did he hide the woman under his trench coat?” Jack asked hotly. Phryne found her hand rubbing his knee in an attempt to calm him. John Senior shrugged.

“She might be still in the house somewhere. Maybe she is hidden in the passageway and you walked right past her. Or maybe there is another set of keys that the killer got hold of and she's somewhere inside a cabinet.”

“Sorry, John, but there are exactly two keys,” Uncle Walter pushed in at this stage, holding up a ring on which a dozen glittering keys dangled. “This one here and the other one in your son's pocket.”

“No offence, but you have lived here for what, 45 years, Walter? And you never noticed a secret doorway behind your bookshelf? You don't think you might have possibly missed a third set of keys?”

Silence dropped like a heavy blanket over the table. How could you argue with that? Jack opened his mouth like a fish on dry land, obviously wanting to say something, then close it again, defeated. People returned to eating and for a while cutlery was the only thing to be heard other than a bird with little feeling for occasion, who was singing melodically in one of the pear trees.

“It is a new lock though.”

Phryne was the first to look up, then the rest of the table followed. The last one to do so was John Robinson, as if he couldn't trust his ears.

“What did you say?”

“It's a new lock. No older than two years.”

Jane had noticed all the attention she drew and refused to blush.

“And how would you know that, young lady?”

She swallowed.

“Because I read a lot. And I know locks.” Jane lifted her chin meeting the man's eyes with determination, while neglecting to mention the reason for her intimate knowledge of all kinds of locks.

“So you expect me to believe that looking briefly at a lock, you can determine how old it is?”

“Easy with that one,” the redhead prompted. “It's a brand new brass lock, hardly any patina to be found on it.”

“That could be due to regular polishing,” the old policeman argued.

“True, but the rest of the door does have a slight coverage, meaning it was only the lock that was replaced.”

Jane looked at Esmeralda Cox-Stafford who nodded inperceptibly with a slight smile on her face.

“That and the company, who made that lock, changed the design slightly in 1928," the girl smirked, setting the last hit. “So it could only have been fitted recently.”

“It was,” Esmeralda finally pushed in, as her brother-in-law seemed to have lost his will to speak.

“Someone broke into the office a few months ago. Nothing went missing, the burglars had obviously hoped for something more interesting than paperwork on lavender harvests. But we had to have the lock replaced. It was badly damaged.”

Jack and Phryne looked at each other, filing this information away for closer inspection later. Mostly, they were focused on a shared feeling of parental pride.

“All very well and good,” Mr. Robinson grumbled in a tone that implied that in his opinion it was neither. “But may I ask who on earth you are, young lady?”

For the first time in the conversation, Jane seemed to lose her ground for a bit. Looking for help to explain her attendance to this family meeting, she locked eyes with her guardian. But the Inspector had seen it too and a dangerous boldness grew in his chest.

“As things stand,” Jack said, his eyes glittering dangerously, “this young lady is soon going to be your granddaughter.”

In collective silence fell around the table as everyone held their breath. John Robinson seemed for the second time in mere minutes to have lost his ability to speak. When he finally did, his voice sounded hoarse.

“You must be joking?”

Jack leaned back in his chair, displaying a nonchalance he did not feel.

“Jane is Miss Fisher's ward,” he explained coldly, watching every breath his father took. “And therefore she will be mine soon, as I have asked Phryne for her hand in marriage.”

John Robinson opened and closed his mouth a few times, with nothing coming out. Then he stood up stiffly.

“Congratulations my son. Now please do excuse me.”

His chair hit the ground, as he walked off without looking back.


	11. Oak

Miss Fisher was worried – even though she would not tell anyone. Not even Dot, who looked at her in a way that guaranteed that she was well aware of her Mistress' troubles. But she didn't feel like talking. Instead she drained another one of about a million drinks she had had since this morning and stared in the direction where Jack had vanished some fifteen minutes ago.

After having thrown the bomb of their marriage at his father, the Inspector had calmly returned to eating his tea, had even participated in the uneasy small talk flying across the table. But Phryne had sat close enough to feel his muscles tremble under the fabric of his suit. He had come here to smooth things over, she knew. And instead he had let himself be provoked into escalating the situation. Phryne knew he had stood up to his father to protect Jane from his judgement, and she loved him all the more for it. But she didn't like the look of her foster daughter either, who still sat at the table, quite alone. People wandered around, seemingly avoiding her, not out of nastiness, but because Jane currently exuded a warning to not approach her. Phryne was familiar with this side of her ward too. But then, she had never been particularly fond of warnings.

“Are you alright, love?” she asked gently, sitting down beside the teenager.

“I didn't mean to cause trouble,” the girl said with so much heaviness of her spirit that Miss Fisher couldn't help but smile at her fondly. “He was just being so annoying.”

“Those two stiff-necks will use any excuse to be at odds, Jane.”

Phryne stroked her daughter's hair, realising, that despite her being almost grown up, and despite all her toughness and cleverness, she was still a little girl in some ways . “Now it's at least out in the open and they can deal with it. That might be a good thing.”

A tiny smile was the reward for her bravery in pointing out things, she wasn't convinced of herself. Jack and his father working it out seemed currently quite a stretch. Not sharing those thoughts, she pressed a kiss to the girl's head. Seconds later she was approached by Dot, who tried to get both of them involved in some silly game that the whole family was playing in an attempt to deny the tensions. Of course, Dorothy Collins would be at the first front. Phryne fled the scene to look for Jack. He had excused himself and yes, she wanted to give him some space. She knew him well enough to be aware, that he tended to deal with things by himself, before he shared them. But she was worried and somehow she felt this was both of their cross to bear, not his alone. She found him, sitting in the grass, underneath a hazelnut tree with closed eyes.

Phryne slipped down by his side, leaning against him without saying a word. After a while, his arm came up to wrap around her.

“Is that your tree?” She asked. “The one that was planted for your birth?”

He shook his head before answering.

“It's Hazel's. They thought it was funny.”

Phryne grinned to herself.

“Mine is that one over there.”

She followed his gesture to a strong oak, reaching out it's branches over most of the other, smaller trees.

“Very fitting,” she stated, while her eye's were drawn in by the vine growing up the trunk. While the tree itself was still standing in a saturated green, the wild wine encircling its roots up to the lower branches, was starting to turn into a flaming shade of red.

“It's never been here before, when I visited,” Jack stated smiling. “Aunt Esmeralda told me, it started growing about two years ago, and she didn't have to heart to tear it down, because it's so beautiful.”

He wrapped his arm tighter around his lover, who was frowning.

“Are you comparing me to a parasitic plant, Inspector?”

“Not parasitic, wild and beautiful and very entangling,” he teased. Phryne looked back at the tree, recalling her thoughts of growing together into something new. The picture was so fitting that her heart ached. She wove her fingers through his, holding his hand tightly.

“You need to talk to him.”

Jack didn't protest. He just nodded.

“I fear, the old grump is not going to be easy to talk to.”

“You weren't exactly gentle either, Jack.”

“No, I guess not.”

In comfortable silence the couple sat in the grass, while the sun finally decided on sinking back to the horizon. Only when the tree and it's encircling vine had been dipped in a bright shade of orange, did Jack get back to his feet, helping his fiancée up.

“I'm afraid I still have to drive over to Hepburn Springs. It shouldn't wait any longer. Did you want to join me?”

There was no real point in answering this, Phryne found. She didn't let go of his hand as they walked back into the real world.

 

X

 

Mr. Butler was actually doing nothing, trying his hardest to enjoy himself. The most astonishing part about that was, that it somehow worked. He was sitting out on the terrace, watching the sunset, listening to the birds singing their goodnight-songs in the trees. Occasionally he picked up his book, but he never read more than two pages at a time. Sometimes, he pondered, the world around one is too beautiful to be ignored. He also knew that he was waiting. He had no idea how long it took to paint an angry picture, but she would be back eventually. And he would be ready.

They had never talked about what their relationship meant to either of them, had just taken it in their stride. The truth was, that Tobias Butler had never thought he would ever fall in love again after the death of his wife and it had come as a quite a surprise when it happened. It was nice, having someone to share his deepest thoughts with again, to hold someone, laugh with someone. And he had with complete delibaration, never stopped to think too hard about it. It couldn't go anywhere, he was well aware of that. But nevertheless, it was nice to have it.

“You know, I never accused you of a dalliance with the Admiral,” he said to the twilight. Riya stepped out of the shadows, a canvas in her hand, that she carefully leaned against a chair, before settling beside him. For a while they sat in silence.

“So what prompted that letter?”

“The realisation that he looks a lot better by your side than I ever will,” Mr. Butler said, pouring wine into the second glass that had sat on the table for hours.

“He does not,” Riya answered, leaning back and taking a sip. “You underestimate yourself, Tobias.”

“That might well be,” he sighed. There was more silence to be had, even the birds had tired of singing and the lake was holding its breath.

“But the uncomfortable truth is, that I do not belong in your social circuit. I am, by all definition, a butler. A good butler, but nevertheless a servant of Miss Fisher. Who is, to complicate matters, your friend.”

Riya looked shocked at his words.

“You do not actually think that I concern myself with those thoughts, Tobias, do you?”

For the first time in their conversation he looked at her.

“You might not, but I do.”

Mrs. Santi stayed quiet, playing with her glass. Mr. Butler felt the need to change the subject.

“Was your painting satisfactory?” He asked politely. She reached out to turn the canvas for him to see. Tobias Butler squinted.

“I apologize for my artistic ignorance, but, what is it?”

“It's an angry lavender field,” she said after a moment of embarrassed silence.

He couldn't help but laugh. Riya joined in a second later. Really it was only a nervous giggle, but it nevertheless untangled a knot in his stomach, he found. So he missed the beginning of her turning serious.

“Tobias, I have come here for another reason and really, my anger with myself far outshines any annoyance I might feel about your letter.”

Suddenly sober, Mr. Butler nodded his head. So there was the lurking truth.

“Well, let's have it,” he said stoically. It took Mrs. Santi a long moment to find the words.

“I am to travel to India in April. My late husband's company needs looking after. My stay in Melbourne was always limited and I should have never hidden that from you. But first there seemed to be no need to share it and then I was being a coward.”

He didn't say anything and so she felt compelled to explain herself further.

“I didn't want this to end.”

“Are you coming back?” Mr. Butler asked.

She only shook her head.

“I will be there for six months, as it is planned, then return to England.”

Tobias Butler felt inside, wondering if his heart was breaking. But there was just hollow emptiness. Maybe because somewhere, deep down, he had always known that it couldn't last. He had been right all along. This knowledge held no satisfaction. He was about to utter some polite words and usher out the door as fast as possible, before his fake calmness would show it's first cracks, when he realised that she was still talking.

“Actually I was wondering...” she trailed off, when he looked up at her, then continued, “...if you wanted to come.”

It was hard to shock Tobias Butler. In fact, he prided himself on the achievement of being near unshakable. That meant something in a servant of Miss Fisher. And yet, he found himself staring at his lover with his mouth agape and his heart racing. He resolved to shut his lips, before he would start dribbling saliva, searching his suddenly chaotic brain feverishly for an answer, when he heard a key turn in the lock, accompanied by quiet giggling. He rose to his feet, partly glad to escape having to react just now.

“I believe Miss Fisher is back, excuse me for a moment.”

He made it almost to the French door, when he heard Riya answer.

“Please think about it.”

Mr. B. turned to nod at her, realising her eyes having gone even darker with sadness and stray tears burning in his own.

“Of course.”

He shot her a smile, before returning to welcoming his Mistress in her temporary home. When he stepped back out again ten minutes later, there was no sign of his lover. Only the picture of an angry lavender field was leaning against a chair.

 

X

 

After a quick change of clothes and the attempt to smooth over the worst of the dishevelment the long day had brought, Jack and Phryne were back on the road in the Cox-Stafford's motor car heading towards Hepburn Springs in their sad mission to inform a Mrs. Abigail Barton of the sudden demise of her sister. The family home of the Barton's turned out to be a rather impressive building, nestled between vineyards at the edge of the small town.

“Strange,” Miss Fisher stated, while climbing out of the car.

“That the sister-in-law of the biggest wine-producer in the area would work for my Uncle rather than for the family business?” Jack asked, walking beside her to the entrance.

“That and why she would move out here at all, if she had no intention of joining her family.”

Their knock seemed to go unheard for a long moment, then a pair of shuffling feet announced the arrival of someone.

“Good evening. Inspector Robinson.”

Jack flashed his batch at the elderly woman standing in the doorframe. Her hair was snow white, standing in sharp contrast to the darkly tanned skin of her face that lay in a complex pattern of wrinkles. Now the wrinkles deepened in recognition.

“Police?”

“Yes, Ma'am. Would it be possible to talk to the lady of the house?”

The woman dared to breath again.

“You gave me a fright, Inspector. I thought for a moment, something happened to them. The Barton's are in Sydney right now on business. We don't expect them back till tomorrow afternoon.”

Jack nodded grimly. He hated this sort of mission to start with but this made things just that much more complicated.

“We will be back tomorrow then.”

He tipped his hat and was about to turn and wish the housekeeper a good night, when Phryne stepped out from the shadows behind him.

“Tell me, you wouldn't happen to know Madelyn Spencer would you?”

The woman paled.

“Madelyn? Has something happened to her?”

Jack and Phryne shared a look.

“I'm afraid so, Ma'am.”

They were shuffled into the house in a hurry and directed towards a big kitchen table that was probably used more by servants than the owner of the house. She took the news calmly but with obvious deep regret.

“I used to be the girl's nurse since they were little,” the elderly lady, who had introduced herself as a Miss Rucci explained after a long moment of silence. “When Abigail married Mr. Barton, she asked me to come with her as her housekeeper. It is rather tough to be a nurse without anyone to look after.” She smiled. “Though the Spencers were always good to me.”

“Did Miss Spencer also follow her sister?” Miss Fisher asked.

“About three months later. The sisters were always close, but it still surprised me. She and Mr. Barton took quite a disliking to each other from the beginning. I think she might have moved out here because she was worried about Abigail.”

“She suspected, Mr. Barton would hurt his wife?” Jack Robinson asked.

“I wouldn't go that far, Inspector. But she didn't trust him.”

Miss Fisher glanced at Jack. They were both thinking the same thing. That it was rather convenient for Joseph Barton to be up in Sydney right now.

“How long have Mr. and Mrs. Barton been gone?” Phryne finally asked.

The housekeeper thought for a moment.

“It must have been Wednesday afternoon. About four. Yes, it was Wednesday. Abigail, I mean Mrs. Barton called me on Friday to advise me they wouldn't be home till tomorrow. They originally intended to return today, but they must have gotten caught up with some acquaintances.”

The detectives' eyes met again. _Very_ convenient!

 

X

 

Mac was currently up to her elbows in raw chicken, a situation that brought certain memories of operations to mind. Yet, this was a lot less dangerous and while it was slightly disgusting, it was also fun. Mostly because she was not on her own. Doctor MacMillan actually cooked a lot, a fact that she suspected not even Phryne was aware of. She never had told her, if she recalled correctly and as a woman who wore men's clothes for a reason, she did not particularly share this fact with enthusiasm. But, Elisabeth lived on her own and that meant undeniably to have to cook for herself or resolve to eat jam sandwiches every night. Jam didn't cut it for Mac. So she had happily offered to help when Esmeralda had excused herself to prepare the family dinner – a tradition that she held onto, despite employing a cook and also despite having been told numerous times that she was the worst cook on this side of the equator by the people that loved her enough to be honest to her face. So Mac currently stirred a bowl full of chicken breast with her fingers and tried to ignore the perfume assaulting her nose in the most enchanting fashion possible.

Hazel Morgan was enthusiastically destructing a leek at this stage, obviously with a lot less finesse which suggested she was not in the habit of cooking for herself. The doctor knew by now that Hazel also lived on her own, which probably meant sandwiches. Jam suddenly seemed a whole lot more appealing. Why exactly she had joined them in the kitchen, Mac wasn't sure, but since the woman was currently reminding her aunt of a Christmas celebration some years ago, when they had managed to set the kitchen alight with a burnt duck, she had a niggling suspicion that that was also tradition.

A naked arm brushed over her's when Hazel grabbed for another knife to massacre a pile of carrots and Mac suppressed a curse at the sensation of every hair on her body standing to attention. She couldn't help it. Hazel was nice and funny and very attractive and that was probably the reason why she liked her, laughed at her jokes and was very attracted. It all made sense. Yet it didn't. She was Jack's cousin and Mac was here to have a time-out from her hectic job, get over her desolate love-life and the hollowness she felt regarding her very existence. That and to support Phryne in the face of an overwhelming amount of In-laws-to-be. Drooling over said In-laws was not part of the plan. She returned her attention to the chicken breasts with some difficulty.

“I think you kneaded them enough,” a grinning voice said beside her. Mac felt a heat come to her ears that she didn't like the feel of. Blushing was _not_ an option. Luckily Lizzy chose that very moment to drop a bowl of peaches that had been meant for dessert and which now rolled all over the floor. Hazel ducked under the table grabbling for one and Mac used the moment to escape and wash chicken-juice off her hands. When she turned, she almost fell over Esmeralda Cox-Stafford, who was crawling over her kitchen floor in her tailored evening gown. The doctor repressed a smirk and joined in the search for escaped fruit. When she chased a particularly stubborn one under a working area, her head smashed into something hard.

“Ouch,” a soft voice gasped. Somewhat confused Mac sat on her heels to rub her throbbing skull.

“You are rather hardheaded,” Hazel joked, mirroring her motion. Her eyes were sparkling and Mac gulped, slowly dropping her hand, before clearing her throat.

“So they say,” she smiled wryly.

“Are you alright girls?” Esmeralda's somewhat muffled voice called from somewhere under the sink.

“Just fine,” Hazel answered, getting to her feet.

“I found one!” Lizzy exclaimed proudly, holding up a ripe peach. Hazel picked up the girl and sat her on the edge of the table, teasing her, while she took the fruit from her hands and added it to the bowl. Mac took the peach that she had been after and scrambled back to her own feet. Watching Hazel and Lizzy joke together made a ache reappear in her heart, that she had almost forgotten about. A family of her own had always been out of the question for Elisabeth. She worked too hard and there was also the slight problem of a man necessary in order to have children. But that didn't mean that she didn't stop sometimes for a moment to think about how nice it must be, to have a face with big eyes look up at you and call you 'Mum'. Hazel turned to her, giving her a slight wink, as Mac dropped the ripe peach with a soft plop on top of the pile. The doctor smiled vaguely and asked her hostess if she had any more to do for her. Burying herself in a pile of potatoes armed with a knife, Elisabeth MacMillan tried to shake off her daydreams and get her head back on track.

 


	12. Moonflower

When Inspector Robinson parked the car in front of Wombat Hall, he wasn't sure if he had the will-power to climb out. A part of him wanted to run as fast as he could back to Melbourne, retreat to their rooftop hideaway and forget that they had ever come. But there were people here he couldn't, wouldn't disappoint. There was Iris of course, Uncle Walter, Olivia, Will, Lizzy... amongst others. And he knew that he didn't want to hurt any of them. Silently retreating after the heated argument with his father had been one thing, but ditching them blatantly, after they had been nothing but nice and welcoming to himself and Phryne, would be simply cowardice. Jack Robinson had many flaws, but he wasn't a coward! He slammed the car door shut with some resolve and grabbed for Phryne's hand, laying it onto his arm while revelling in the warmth of her fingers. She was also someone he did not want to hurt and something told him without doubt, that she longed for the approval of his family. She deserved to be presented proudly by him as his companion, his lover, and his future wife. He would not hide her away, just because his father was being a prejudiced pillock. Laughter swept towards them, when they stepped through the entrance, their heads held high,. Jane was amusing the assembled people with a story of travelling Scotland and while Aunt Prudence looked slightly embarrassed about her thoughts on kilts, Aunt Olivia found the anecdote highly amusing. Even Fred, the most boring man on the planet was in a fit of laughter. His wife was nowhere to be seen and quite a few of the other people were missing as well. The Inspector spotted his father sitting in a corner, absorbed in a book. Of course the old grump would not give Jane the slightest chance. Had Jack looked a little closer, he might have noticed the ghost of a smile on John Robinson's lips or that the old man hadn't turned a page in more than ten minutes. But as it stood, Jack was preoccupied with his anger and a thought that suddenly invaded his brain.

“I'll just have another look at our crime-scene,” he whispered into Phryne's ear. “I won't be a minute.” Before she had recovered from her surprise or made up her mind if she wanted to hound him upstairs or rather listen to her foster daughter's adventures, he was already gone. On the first floor greeted him a dim light shining down the corridor. To his utter astonishment it seemed to come from Miss Spencer's office.

The Inspector pushed the door open, wishing once again, his pistol wasn't locked up at the City South Police Station. A man stood there, his back turned to him, rummaging through some paperwork. Jack cleared his throat loudly. The man turned, looking a whole lot less caught in the act than he should have, sneaking around in a crime scene.

“Good evening,” Jack Robinson said pleasantly. “May I ask, what you are doing in here?”

Now the man looked confused.

“I was missing some bills and thought, Miss Spencer might have them archived somewhere. But, who are you?”

“I am Detective-Inspector Robinson,” Jack smiled grimly, “and I am also the one asking the questions.”

He stepped into the room, slapping the folder shut the man had been searching in. He damned his own forgetfulness. The secret passage had sidetracked him long enough to miss the tiny little detail of locking the office door behind them. Of course, he hadn't actually thought anyone would rummage straight through the assembled paperwork. Besides that, he doubted anything of interest could be found that he or Phryne wouldn't have spotted already. But the man looked more confused than worried at this stage.

“So, lets start with who you are and how you knew Miss Spencer.” Jack Robinson said calmly, taking out his note book.

“May I ask, what's going on?”

The “no”, was lying on Jack's tongue like lead. Something about this man didn't quite rub him the right way. But of course, he had a point.

“Miss Spencer was murdered this morning,” the Inspector stated calmly. The still nameless man appeared shocked and sank onto the chair in front of the desk.

“Murdered?”

“Murdered, right here.”

Jack pulled a grimace without looking up, as the man jumped back to his feet, trying to escape the crime-scene as fast as possible. But the Inspector stood in the door, blocking him from the hallway.

“So, your name please.”

“Crossley. Charles Crossley. I am Mr. Cox-Stafford's right hand, so to say, overseeing the business when he is occupied.”

Jack nodded.

“Since my uncle was occupied today, how can it be, that we haven't met yet?”

“I had a business meeting in Ballarat this morning. Some old clients of ours that I wanted to see personally. There are some problems with the payment of the latest bill. Which was why I was trying to find the paperwork.” He made an extensive gesture to the now chaotic desk of the late Miss Spencer.

“I have just gotten back an hour ago and thought, I'd look for it before dinner. I had no idea, that...” He trailed off.

Jack had scribbled in his note book, ignoring the big gestures of the man. Crossley was a tall man, perfectly combed hair, a well cut suit. He was the impersonation of a trustworthy man and very obviously shaken by the assistant's death. Inspector Robinson was deeply suspicious.

“Do you live on the premises, Mr. Crossley?”

“No, I live in town, with my family. Why is that of any matter, Inspector?” he asked, after a small pause.

“Oh, just routine. Have you removed anything from this office?”

The man shook his head.

“I hadn't found anything of interest yet.”

“Good.” Jack said, letting the man past and switching off the light, before pulling the door shut firmly and locking it. “This office is not be touched.”

Mr. Crossley agreed, before watching the policeman stride down the stairs. After a moment of hesitance, he walked back into his own office, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

X

 

Nobody was asleep. It wasn't so much the creaking of the stairs, the light sneaking through door cracks that convinced Phryne of this, as that she could feel them. They were all occupied with their own thoughts, their own heartaches. She closed the window, wondering what to do. Jack Robinson had gone for some fresh air an hour and a half ago and not returned yet. The dinner had been awkward at best. Grinding might have been a better word.

Somehow, the two John Robinsons had ended up across from each other at the table. Miss Fisher suspected that that had been a well-meant effort by Mrs. Cox-Stafford to encourage a dialogue. It had ended with John Robinson trying to attempt an awkward conversation with his table partner Laura, who had had trouble hiding her astonishment at the amount of attention paid to her and Jack moving his food around his plate in silence, while they both avoided looking at each other. It hadn't been the only strange occurrence. Phryne had noticed with some confusion that Mac had suddenly removed herself to the opposite end of the table from Hazel, squeezing between Aunt Prudence and Esmeralda Cox-Stafford, who had talked about olden times most of the night past her, while the doctor seemed occupied with her food. All while Hazel's eyes had watched her somewhere between hurt and confusion, which Mac had seemed to miss completely. Phryne couldn't help but wonder what had happened between them that deemed her friends retreat necessary. Miss Fisher herself had resolved to talk to her left table partner, after she had grown tired of watching Jack pout at his father and had started a meaningless but rather animated chat with Samuel Cox-Stafford. After a while she had noticed that the young man was flirting rather heavily with her, which was as flattering as it was amusing. Jack hadn't paid enough attention to care, but his cousin Iris had shot them looks that could have killed on the spot.

The master of the house had felt obligated to fill the awkward silence with a round of jokes that drew uneasy laughter that had finally prompted Baby Fred to wake up and scream his lungs out. This had been the point John Robinson senior had retired to his guest room, claiming a headache. As much as she hated the way he treated his son, Phryne couldn't blame him for retreating. She herself had breathed a sigh of relief, when they had finally gotten on their way home. But despite there being only her family around, the tension was still so thick that it could have been cut with a knife. It didn't help that Mr. Butler seemed rather out of it as well. Dot had cried again about a small tear in her dress that she could probably fix with her eyes closed. Jane seemed to be shaken by the cracks in the Robinson clan that she felt partly responsible for. Aunt P. was pouting assumingly because nobody was really interested in the history lessons she had to share and Mac had been utterly and uncharacteristically silent all night. Miss Fisher wasn't certain about whom to begin worrying first. Torn, she stood in the hallway, barefoot with her morning gown wrapped over a thin nightdress, wondering which door to knock on. The decision was taken from her when Dot's door opened and its occupant emerged, with a broad smile on her face that made room for surprise, when she saw her employer.

“Miss? Is anything the matter?”

“Nothing, Dot. Are you feeling alright?” Miss Fisher asked suspiciously.

“Of course, I just seem to be unable to sleep in a strange bed so I was getting up to make some cocoa. Would you like some?”

Miss Fisher shook her head slowly, wondering if there had been any hallucinogenic plants in the tea tonight. She managed a smile.

“Thank you, Dot. But I fear it is too warm for cocoa. Could you please offer Aunt Prudence some though?” she asked on afterthought.

“Of course, Miss.”

Phryne breathed slowly. A little bit of attention would fix her aunt, she was quite sure of it. Two down, four to go. In sudden resolve, she knocked against Mac's door. But there was only silence to be heard. The detective pushed down the handle and with a soft, charismatic squeak the door swung open, presenting an unslept in bed to her. The rest of the room was decidedly empty, save the chaotic attempts of unpacking that Mac had never finished. Phryne pulled the door shut. So it wasn't only Jack, who had fled the house to sort his thoughts. Just as well. Maybe they ran into each other in the darkness and managed to beat some sense into their hard heads in the progress. The detective couldn't help but smile at the picture, while she made her way to Jane's room. The girl was lying on her stomach absorbed in a book, when her foster mother approached and looked up with some curiosity. Phryne sank onto the edge of her bed and wondered how to start.

“Are you alright?” Jane asked, surprising her somewhat.

“I'm Fine.”

A pair of clever blue eyes fixed on her, calling her a liar. Jane scrambled to a sitting position, shutting her book.

“You are worried about Jack and his father, aren't you?” she asked.

“Of course, I am,” Miss Fisher admitted, smiling despite herself.

“So, why aren't you out there looking for him?” her daughter asked.

“Because I am also worried about you.”

Jane seemed to think about this for a long moment.

“You know,” she finally said conversationally, “I've never had this much family before. Actually, most of my life I didn't have any family, besides my mother. And then I had you and Dot and Mr. Butler and now I have more family than I can count. And they all seem to argue with each other. It's strange.”

“That's how families work,” Phryne smiled weakly.

“But you know what's the strangest thing about it all?” Jane asked grinning. “They still seem to love each other. In a weird, funny sort of way.”

Miss Fisher let her words echo through her heart. She knew what Jane meant. She just wasn't sure, if she could explain it to the Inspector.

“I think I better go talk to Jack,” she finally stated thoughtfully.

“You better,” her daughter said, picking up her book again. Phryne rose, but turned to the girl, who had already returned her attention to the pages.

“Jane?”

A small murmur was the only answer.

“It's good to have you back. I missed you.”

She kissed the girl on her hair before she could protest and under Jane's warm smile retreated back into the hall. There she took a deep breath. Right. She had to find Inspector Robinson. And then she had to find a way to beat some sense into him.

 

X

 

Gravel crunched under Mac's shoes. Some time had gone by since she had had an idea where she was. It was a dark night, with a skinny sickle of a moon hanging in the sky more for decoration , than for actual light. Instead it let the millions of stars take centre-stage above her head. It was a breathtaking view, but Mac couldn't find any calmness in it. Her heart was racing and she wasn't sure if this was caused by the speed with which her feet flew over the small path underneath them or by the thoughts invading her brain violently. There was a yearning she hadn't felt in so long that she had almost forgotten about it. Yet here it was, strong and dark, consuming her from the inside. A pair of green eyes with golden sprinkles haunted her.

Sometime in the duration of this evening Mac had realised, that she needed to stay as far away from Hazel Morgan as possible. She would talk with Phryne in the morning, explain to her friend that she needed to get back to Melbourne. The question remained if she should share the truth with her about the fact that she was falling head over heels for a woman who was likely to find her attentions disgusting, once she understood their meaning.

“Are you in love with her?” Hazel's voice echoed in her ears. Alright, so maybe Miss Morgan was not as appalled as most people by the doctor feeling drawn to her own gender, rather than to the 'proper' one. Yet, the very idea... Mac's cheeks were glowing, despite the cool night breeze. She could not allow herself to hope and have her heart broken all over again. It had been hard enough getting over Daisy's death and she had been quite resolved to stay alone. And now Jack's cousin came and shook up her deepest desires. It made no sense, but she just couldn't help it.

Mac was so absorbed in the frantic struggle with her emotions, that she didn't see the figure in the dark until she had almost reached her. Her heart hammered in her chest, when she recognised who it was. Hazel looked as confused as herself and just as sleepless. In the shadow of the night, the two women stopped right in front of each other, at a distance that would probably have been deemed inappropriate in anything but lovers.

Neither of them said a word. Mac wasn't sure, she could have spoken, if she'd tried. There was no air left in her lungs. But their eyes did plenty of talking. After a long moment of breathless, intimate silence, two slim, warm hands reached out to frame Mac's face. Elisabeth wondered dimly if it was at all possible to faint of longing, when Hazel's palms stroked her face with so much tenderness that she wanted to weep and laugh at the same time. When she allowed herself to open her lashes again, a pair of green eyes looked at her from close distance with so many questions in them, that Mac wasn't sure she would be ever able to answer all of them. But she managed a tiny smile, while she reached out her own fingers, running her thumb over Hazel's cheek. Possibly she imagined it, but there seemed to be tears glittering in the other woman's eyes. Mac closed the last of their distance, while the stars shone on curiously and when she brought her mouth to her lover's lips the earth stopped turning.

 


	13. Seaweed

The earth stubbornly spun on for Phryne, who walked the garden in silence at the time. She had a fair idea, where Jack might be hiding, but for good measure she looked everywhere all the same. Finally she spotted him lying in the grass further down in their garden, where the lake splashed lazily against the shore. She wasn't surprised to find him looking up at the stars, it was a habit of his that she found touching.

Phryne lay down beside him and turned her own eyes to the twinkling lights far above them. Really, she wanted to look at him, count the worried creases on his face, but she resisted.

“It's the same sky,” he said, after some time. Miss Fisher smiled into the darkness.

“Of course it is. We aren't that far from home, Jack.”

“It feels awfully far away.”

There was a sadness in his voice that made her reach out her fingers and weave them through his. She understood. He felt homesick. Not so much for Melbourne, but their privacy, their happiness. They had successfully blocked out the world for the past weeks and now the world was back and it was chaotic and a little cruel.

“I am right here,” she said, after a long moment of silence. She could hear him smile beside her.

“I have noticed that, Miss Fisher.” He turned his head. “So has Samuel, I believe.”

Phryne didn't know what to answer. So he actually _had_ followed their conversation.

“A very charming young man, that cousin of yours. How old is he?” she wondered aloud.

“I cannot remember,” Jack lied, “Fifteen, twelve. Possibly a little out of your usual hunting grounds.”

Phryne wrapped her fingers tighter around his.

“It might surprise you Inspector, but I am currently not looking for a lover. Not even a young and handsome law-student with an incredibly flattering attitude.”

“I didn't think for a moment you were,” Jack Robinson replied, only half joking.

“I believe your cousin Iris sees things differently,” Phryne sighed after a pause. “She watched us like a hawk all night. As if she suspected I would jump the poor boy and ravish him in front of the whole family.”

The Inspector laughed a quiet, deep laugh.

“She's not all that bad, Phryne.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

There was silence and darkness for some time, while Jack thought about how to explain Iris' behaviour to his fiancée.

“She's scared,” he finally admitted.

“Of me?” Phryne rolled over in the soft grass to face her lover. Jack looked at her, smiling.

“For me mostly, I believe. Look, it is a long story and I do not want to bother you with-”

“We have all night, Jack.”

The Inspector rolled his eyes.

“You know that she shares a deep friendship with Rosie?”

“Yes, but you'd think she has gotten the hint of your separation, after her friend got remarried to somebody else.”

The Inspector smiled wryly.

“A fair point, but not the whole story, Miss Fisher. See, Rupert is Iris's second husband. She married Christian pretty young, they were quite in love.”

Jack was silent for a moment, and Phryne started to worry, what was to come, when he continued, in a serious, quiet voice. “He didn't return from Turkey. Only three months later, Iris's father fell in Flanders. It was a rough year for the Morgans.”

Miss Fisher nodded into the darkness. It was a common fate in their time, but that didn't make it any less painful. Jack turned to look at her, his eyes white in the night.

“I believe, she never really forgave Rosie or me for not working it out, despite being so lucky. But she also feels like she needs to protect me even more now.”

Phryne sensed her throat tighten as she reached out to cup his cheek. There were no words in her to express how glad she was that he had been lucky enough to return. And also, she had to admit, that he hadn't worked it out with Rosie. He seemed to have heard her thoughts all the same, as he took her hand and pressed her palm to his lips, smiling.

“For the record, Miss Fisher, I am considering myself the luckiest sod in the world.”

“It's a big world, Inspector.”

“So it is.”

For a long moment they lay in comfortable silence, just looking at each other, feeling each others skin under their fingertips.

“I actually thought, there was more to your story,” Miss Fisher teased. “A first forbidden kiss in the enchanted garden, reading Shakespeare to your cousin...”

Jack's eyes widened.

“A kiss? With Iris?”

He pulled such a grimace that Phryne wanted to laugh.

“Oh, come on, Jack, she is quite an attractive woman and cousins get married more often than you'd think.”

The Inspector shook his head as if trying to wipe away the picture Phryne had put in his mind.

“Iris is like the sister I did not have,” he explained, his face still distorted in confusion.

“I thought, you _did_ have a sister?”

“Yes, but Amanda was usually busy dressing up in garments ten sizes too big for her and then getting berated for smearing mud on them,” the Inspector grinned.

Miss Fisher felt confused. The relief was there. Yet, she suddenly knew clear as daylight, that she had never actually feared a lurking romantic interest between the cousins. There was still a slight jealousy hidden in the pits of her stomach, not for another woman but another companion. Someone who had been there a long time before her and would likely never leave. It was an odd sensation. She could not remember ever having cared enough about a man to wonder who else might care for him. But then, she did remember how it felt to have a sister.

In the distance a light was switched off, dipping them into even denser darkness. Dot and Aunt P seemed to have come to the conclusion that it was bedtime after all. Or possibly Jane had gotten tired of reading. Mr. Butler had been pretending to sleep for hours. Miss Fisher wondered dimly, if Mac had returned from her nightly wander yet and with what conclusion.

“You talk a lot about Iris, but you never told me much about her sister,” she said, snapping the Inspector out of whatever train of thoughts he had just followed.

“What would you like to know?”

She could see his eyes glimmer in the darkness.

“Oh, you know. What does she do? Where does she live? Why isn't she married?”

“Hazel is rather independent, a bit like you.” Jack replied after a brief pause.

“I don't know if you have noticed, Inspector, but I am not that independent anymore.”

She leaned forward to press a teasing kiss to his lips but was surprised, when he didn't answer.

“Let's just say, Hazel is and I believe she will stay that way.”

Miss Fisher looked at him startled, then she realised what he meant. So Mac's attraction wasn't quite as hopeless as she thought. That was certainly good news. Phryne was about to open her mouth, when the Inspector turned to her, suddenly serious again.

“Phryne, I do not believe that they know. I guess, that Iris and Aunt Olivia would have to suspect something, but please...” he trailed off, leaving his lover somewhat startled. She briefly considered being offended by the implication that she might waltz into the family meeting and uncover Hazel's secret, but it occurred to her how much Mac still struggled after all those years. Jack was trying to protect his cousin. Miss Fisher closed her mouth and stayed silent. It was the best she could do for Hazel Morgan.

After a pause, she pulled herself to her feet and undid her dressing gown, slipping it onto the ground. Her nightdress followed shortly behind. Inspector Robinson, who had briefly feared he had offended his lover, watched her with his mouth agape. His voice sounded suspiciously rough, when he spoke.

“What are you doing, Miss Fisher?”

“I am taking a bath in the moonlight,” she pointed out.

The Inspector made a show at looking at the small sickle, that was currently half-hidden between a pile of clouds.

“There is not much moon to bathe in.”

But Phryne wasn't listening, she was already half in the lake, her white back standing out against the dark blue of the night. It was a surreal picture and Jack couldn't manage to tear his eyes away. When the waves reached her knees, she called out over her shoulder.

“Are you coming?”

It was almost autumn and the nights weren't that warm anymore. The water was probably freezing cold. And the term “moonlight skinny dipping” woke unpleasant memories in Jack of a murder victim who had turned out to be one of Miss Fisher's former lovers. Yet, he found himself already unbuttoning his shirt, while he still pondered why on earth he would follow her. Because she was Miss Fisher of course; it was as simple as that. He ran into the black waves, before he could change his mind, the cool water pricking on his naked skin. 

“You are insane!” he panted, when Miss Fisher resurfaced from the dark waters right beside him.

“And so are you, Inspector,” she replied with a cheeky smile, while curling her arms around his back, pressing her cool, wet body to his. Jack resisted the urge to shriek away from her cold embrace and instead wrapped his arms around her slim limbs, trailing his fingertips over the small of her back, then further down her familiar curves.

“So, this whole moonlight bathing, does it usually involve certain activities?” he asked.

“That depends, Inspector Robinson.”

Her fingernails drew a line along his spine, leaving tingles in their wake. The Inspector found to his surprise, that the cold water was no sufficient antidote to his burning desire for the Honourable Miss Fisher. His voice sounded accordingly rough, when he enquired further.

“On what would it depend, Miss Fisher?”

“Mostly, if you can catch me.”

Before the words had arrived in his quickly clouding brain, she had slipped out of his grasp and dove back underwater. Jack's hand grasped into emptiness. With a small swear on his lips, he let himself fall into the waves, chasing the shadow of Miss Fisher who was a stronger swimmer than he remembered. Then again, the last time they had been in a lake together, she had been unconscious. That would have somewhat tipped the score to his advantage.

When he resurfaced spluttering water, her head was only two metres away from him, but already moving the other direction between the dark waves. Her silly laughter echoed over the silent lake and the Inspector couldn't help but grin to himself, while he did his hardest to push his cold muscles into some form of coordinated movement. When he finally caught up to her, the shoreline now far in the distance, he couldn't help but wonder if she had let him win on purpose. Treading water, they circled each other like a shark it's prey, yet neither jumped. Suddenly Phryne was gone again, and Jack still wondered if he should be worried, when her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him underwater. He struggled, but she had caught him off his guard and the waves closed over his head, before he had time to react much. Something in the inky black water seemed to slow down his thoughts in time. While he twisted in her embrace to face her, felt the coldness of the lake invade every single millimeter of his skin, his mind was suddenly clear and as sharp as a knife. It did not matter, where in the world they were. She was his, he was hers. They were one. His hand grasped hers, despite being unable to see more than a white shadow in the darkness they were floating in and they resurfaced. Jack sucked cool night air into his stinging lungs. It burned. Phryne's hair was sticking wet to her head but her eyes were huge in the dim light and he felt the warmth in the inside of his numb body with an intensity and clearness that he hardly ever had time and space enough to feel.

“I love you.”

It was out, before he had even thought it. Miss Fisher looked a little surprised, but incredibly pleased with herself. She curled her arms around him, pulling him into a wet, smouldering kiss. When they broke apart breathlessly, life had returned to the lower parts of the Inspector.

“That's cheating, Jack,” she pouted, slipping through his arms again and swimming back towards the shore. Inspector Robinson followed shortly behind, unable to repress a grin. He didn't catch her till they had almost reached their garden. The Lake Villa was now lying in complete darkness and Phryne got distracted by wondering about Mac's disappearance. The Inspector used this to his own advantage. As soon as he could feel the ground under his feet, he grasped his lover and pulled her towards himself, spinning her to press her against his own freezing limbs. In the coldness surrounding them, the remaining heat of their bodies was irresistible and they held onto each other like clinging onto life itself.

“And since when do you mind cheating, Miss Fisher?” Jack whispered beside her ear, his hand following the curves of her back, his rough cheek brushing against her neck. Phryne pushed herself away from the ground, wrapping her long legs around his hips.

“I never said, I did.”

Any answer Jack might have uttered, drowned in a long drawn groan, as her overwhelming warmth surrounded him. Lazy waves broke on the two entangled bodies moving in the dark waters, finding a slow, intense rhythm between them, chasing for heat in the cold. When the fire spread through Jack's core, his knees actually buckled underneath him, throwing both of them back into the inky black waters. Breathlessly spluttering they resurfaced and burst into giddy laughter.

“You know, I could say plenty of unpleasant things about Marcel Denier,” Jack panted, while they climbed back onto the grass and collected their clothes from the ground. “But he did have a point about moonlight skinny dipping.”

 

X

 

Mr. Butler starred against the dark ceiling, when he heard quiet laughter sound through the open window. So his Mistress was enjoying her holidays. That was good news or so he tried to convince himself. When the party had brought a somewhat strained atmosphere back from their dinner at Wombat Hall, he had been somewhat worried. But the hushed giggles down in the gardens spoke a different language. They would work it out. Mr. Butler turned under his quilt and made another pointless attempt at going to sleep. Now, there were feet tapping over the floorboards outside his room and amused whispers. He tried a knowing smile to himself, that didn't quite play out as planned. Yes, his Mistress was enjoying herself and for the first time in history, Tobias Butler found himself envious of something that she had. He needed neither her money nor her title, not even her adventures. But her relationship with Inspector Robinson who was not due to leave for India and who had not asked her to question her life, was something he couldn't help but feel deep envy about. Another turn. He couldn't leave, could he? Throw away everything he was, he had ever been? Miss Fisher needed him. But did she really? Surely, she could find another butler. India could be a new start, without a butler's uniform. Just be a man for once, Riya's man. Mr. Butler finally fell asleep. He dreamed.

 

X

 

She awoke with a start when grey morning light hit her face. Hazel sat up in the unfamiliar bed and attempted to orientate herself. Last night. She had... Vivid memories flooded the brunette's fuzzy brain. She turned her head and spotted the red curls, almost hidden under the edge of the duvet. Her heart was racing in her chest. So she hadn't dreamt it.

With a sigh she fell back into the warm pillow, about to dig out Mac from under her covers to snuggle up against her, when something else occured to her. Blinking, she focused her eyes on her wrist watch.

“Oh, bugger,” Hazel Morgan swore in an unladylike manner but quiet enough to not wake her lover and slipped out of bed. While she got hurriedly dressed, hoping that she wouldn't run into Uncle Walter on his way out hunting, her eyes kept being drawn back to the redhead in bed, who still hadn't stirred. It was so unreal still, she found. It had never been easy, feeling this way about another woman, always something to step about carefully to not run the risk of exposing yourself to the world. And yet, she had known. As soon as Doctor MacMillian had opened her mouth the first time to speak to her, she had felt her heart skip a beat. There was something about the woman that just pulled her in. At present, she fought the invisible urge to crawl back into bed and be completely unreasonable. Hazel Morgan sighed, as she slipped her gloves back on. There was too much at stake. Not only her own family finding out, God knew, what they might make of this immoral behaviour, but also she wasn't sure, how far Mac's companions knew about her secrets. It wouldn't do to be discovered here in the first light of the morning. She leaned over the bed and kissed the doctor's ear, the only thing she could currently find in the mess of covers and curls, and retreated before the longing could overwhelm her. Seconds later she snuck down the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief, when she pulled the front door shut behind herself. She completely missed the pair of curious eyes following her way down the path from a window in the first floor.

 


	14. Coffea

Prudence Stanley hadn't slept much. It had little to do with Phryne and her Inspector she found. Despite Jack Robinson's rather crude appearance, she had always sensed somehow, that he was a gentleman and that had kept her from interfering in their blossoming relationship as much as she possibly could have. That, and the knowledge Phryne had actually settled somewhat, since the Inspector had entered her life. God knew, it was necessary for the girl to calm down.

Now Mrs. Stanley finally knew the reasons for all this. He was a Cox-Stafford, even if he might have denied it. Prudence had lead the most wonderful conversation with the Lord and Lady of Wombat Hall during the last day and despite them also being a little eccentric, she was not worried about Phryne marrying Jack Robinson anymore. He was from a family that had more ancestors documented, than even her late husband. A family tree was about the only plant Mrs. Stanley was really fond of and the discovery of this particular one had filled her with satisfaction. Now to make sure, they actually did go through with tying their knot and finally ended this ridiculous living together of theirs.

Prudence picked up the teacup that she actually had to fill herself and walked back to the window. It was hideous that she should have to make her own tea, while there were servants in the house, soundly asleep. But her niece had had a stern word with her yesterday, informing her that neither Mrs. Collins nor Mr. Butler were to be bothered. “They are on a holiday and I will not have them scramble after everybody's needs,” she had said, ignoring her aunts grimace in the most rude manner, “You chose to come along uninvited and you will take care of yourself.” There had been no reasoning with her and Prudence had cursed the lack of class-consciousness in her niece. But that is probably what you get when you throw a title at a Collingwood girl.

But that wasn't what had kept her awake either. The truth was that talking to Esmeralda Cox-Stafford had woken memories in Mrs. Stanley, stirred up old aches. This morning she felt the loss of her loved ones more than she had in a long time. It was a bitter-sweet pain. In a strange way it was nice to know that she had not forgotten how it felt to hug her mother or speak to her husband. But she also missed them terribly today and despite the house full of people, she felt lonely. Which was why she escaped her cold, empty bed as soon as it was decent to do so. Nevertheless, she had been glad when she had been back in her bedroom with said cup of tea. Having to lead an awkward conversation with Dorothy Collins or worse, Doctor MacMillan while in her morning gown was something to be avoided at all costs. She actually had enjoyed her little chat with Phryne's companion last night over a cup of cocoa, Prudence had to admit to herself. The girl was young, but very decent and her only flaw was probably that she was under the spell of Mrs. Stanley's wild-child niece more than was good for her. A freshly married woman really should be home with her husband, not travelling around the countryside. Especially if what Prudence Stanley suspected was true.

She pondered that, when a noise from downstairs in the garden caught her ear. By the time she had picked herself up from her armchair and reached the window, the woman had almost arrived at the gate. Mrs. Stanley recognised the dishevelled head of hair instantly. Dear Lord, what a cheek to sneak out of this house this early in the morning. Aunt P. shook her head. She would have to have a word with her niece. Or better yet the Cox-Stafford's. She doubted, that Mrs. Esmeralda had the slightest idea of what her niece was up to. A most appalling business.

 

X

 

Phryne stretched her limbs like a contented cat in the warm cave underneath the sheets before opening her eyes. She found Jack watching her with a small smile on his lips.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked. She nodded, fixing her eyes on the steaming cup in his hands, from which a heavenly smell wafted through their bedroom.

“Coffee,” he stated, completely unnecessarily. It was more than obvious what was the content of his cup.

“Please tell me, you brewed this yourself. It took me some time to convince Aunt P. that Mr. Butler was not on this trip for her convenience.”

“Of course. I believe the rest of the house is still asleep.”

The Inspector couldn't have been more wrong about this, but currently he was distracted by the woman in his bed, pulling her lips into a small pout.

“And you did not think to bring me one, Inspector?”

He smiled and leaned over to kiss her.

“I did not want to rouse you, Miss Fisher. After all, last night was rather exhausting.”

Miss Fisher rolled her eyes in mock annoyance but couldn't help the fond smile spreading over her face. After they had retired to their bedroom, they had lain underneath the duvet in the darkness, trying to warm each other's cold limbs. Which had, after a time of quiet talking, turned again into a more physical form of communication. She could not remember when they had finally drifted off to sleep, but it was somewhat surprising that either of them managed to pry their eyes open right now. Let alone, that she felt utterly rested and relaxed.

“So, this is why you are drinking coffee, is it?” she purred, letting her hand slip underneath the covers.

“Miss Fisher!” Jack warned.

“Yes, Jack?”

“I am still rather worn. Something tells me, I cannot survive another encounter right this morning. Besides that, we are expected at Wombat Hall for breakfast.”

He leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper.

“And I do not wish to sit at a table with my collected family and only be able to think about what is underneath your dress, Miss Fisher.”

“That would indeed be rather tragic.”

Phryne retreated, pulling herself into a sitting position.

“But nevertheless you could at least have brought me some coffee, after you wore me out, Inspector.”

He smirked at this, taking another sip and setting down his cup.

“You know, I will share if asked nicely.”

“I never do, Inspector.”

Their faces were now so close, that she could smell the coffee on his lips.

“I know,” he whispered.

As it turned out, Detective-Inspector Robinson had been wrong. He _was_ able to survive another sexual adventure that morning. Two, actually.

 

X

 

Breakfast went by without any further dramas. Father and son had returned to a stiff politeness that seemed to bother nobody other than Phryne much. She had a lurking suspicion that this was the default of their encounters for years and Jack's family had given up on trying to change that fact. Well, they were in for a surprise. Miss Fisher, who was not overly fond of her own family, for good reasons, had no intention of letting Jack Robinson suffer under his strained relationship with his father for the rest of his life out of pure stubbornness. After finishing the last of her scone, it was decided. She would somehow manage to break the ice between those two.

With that resolve, she amused herself by following the looks that were traded across the room by her best friend and Hazel Morgan. Both appeared tired and a little confused. But there was also a certain vibe flying through the air that seemed to make it sparkle. Phryne was surprised, that most occupants of the breakfast table appeared oblivious to it. All but Prudence Stanley who eyed the two with open annoyance. Phryne sighed inwardly. She dearly hoped, that her Aunt was not about to make a scene and stomp on this tender bud of a love with her usual charm of steamroller.

When she finally got up, she was surprised to be approached by Walter Cox-Stafford, who offered to show her his library. She bit back a comment about the fact that Jack had already revealed his secret of not being overly fond of books and followed her host into the other room. Being the proud owner of a extensive collection of books was after all not the same as enjoying reading them. And the Hall's library was certainly of some standard, judging from the many important looking volumes that lined three of the four walls. On the fourth, a small fire flickered, reminding Phryne that the summer was almost over and there were dark clouds balling up on the sky outside that looked suspiciously like rain. But as it turned out, Uncle Walter was not in the slightest bit concerned about books. After he had watched her politely while she let her fingertips run over his collection, he cleared his throat.

“Can I offer you anything, Miss Fisher?”

“No thank you,” she smiled, not commenting on the just finished breakfast. But she sat down in the offered chair nevertheless. For a long moment it was silent, save the whispers of the flames.

“I feel I need to apologize for my brother-in-law.”

Phryne's eyes widened at this.

“This conversation might seem quite forward, Miss Fisher. But something tells me, you are used to being forward yourself and therefore will fit right into this family.”

The grey moustache twitched into a smile.

“Many people think me an old fool, which I might well be. But I am not a blind old fool.”

He leaned forward, looking with honest blue eyes at Phryne, who was still recovering from her shock.

“I have not seen my nephew this happy in many years, Miss Fisher. And I dare believe, that this has something to do with you being by his side. So for all I care, John can go to hell. I hope Jack holds onto you.”

Miss Fisher found herself speechless, while the grey man watched her with warm eyes. She dearly wished now, she had accepted the offered drink. After a long pause, she managed to clear her throat.

“Mr. Cox-Stafford-”

“Walter, please. We are to be related soon.”

Miss Fisher smiled at this.

“Walter. I am honoured by your trust. And believe me when I say, I have every intention of making Jack as happy a man as it is in my power.”

She got up stiffly, before the tears pricking at the back of her eyes had a chance to overwhelm her calm exterior.

“But now, please do excuse me. I haven't looked after my daughter in a while.”

The man nodded a knowing smile. When Phryne had reached the door, he called after her. She turned, fully aware, that there was no hiding the traitorous tear trickling down her cheek.

“Welcome to the family, Phryne.”

She nodded and fled.

 

X

 

Mac wandered the halls of the estate rather aimlessly. Confusion had taken over since the doctor had woken alone with a sense of loss that she couldn't quite explain. She hadn't shared more than a few harmless kisses and her bed with Hazel Morgan last night. Not because she didn't want more, God knew, she was aching to touch her, but she was not sure if rushing into this was a good idea. When she had woken alone in the morning, with no sign of the woman she had fallen asleep with, she hadn't been sure, if she had imagined the whole encounter altogether, slowly going insane of loneliness. Then it had occurred to her that maybe Hazel might have been disappointed by her lack of forwardness and the absence of erotic adventure. Maybe she was not looking for love at all and she had missed her one chance of at least getting some warm skin underneath her fingertips.

So Elizabeth had come to Wombat Hall with weak knees, ready to face defeat. She had done it again, had allowed herself to be a fool. But even though Hazel Morgan had not even tried to battle her way onto her side of the table and the doctor had ended up between Fred Simmens-Cox-Stafford, who must have been the most sleep-inducing man on the planet and Wendy Robinson, who was very friendly and also quite chatty, the eyes of her would-be lover had sparkled at her from the other side of the sunroom with the knowledge of a sweet secret shared. So maybe, just maybe all was not lost.

As she thought this, a soft hand grabbed Mac's arm and seconds later she found herself pressed with her back against a wall, a warm body touching her in all the places guranteed to turn her knees into pudding.

“Here you are,” Hazel whispered, trailing her eyes down the corridor for anyone who might have been watching, “I missed you in the sitting room.”

Before Mac had managed to come up with a reply, a set of fingers were firmly wrapped around her wrist, pulling her down the hall and into a room. Only when the door fell shut behind them, did Mac allow herself to breathe again. She swept her eyes briefly over the setting her lover had chosen. A half unpacked suitcase was lying on a untouched bed. So this was quite obviously Hazel's guest room. She stood around, feeling silly, watching Miss Morgan trying to turn the old key in the lock. Finally the other woman turned with a self-satisfied smile.

“Now, where were we?” she asked, curling her arms around Mac's back. The doctor couldn't help but close her eyes, when their lips met again, wrestled the other woman's tongue with more vigour than she should allow herself, but when Hazel started to manoeuvre them towards her bed, her senses returned. She struggled free from the embrace.

“Hazel, stop!” she panted. Her body didn't want her to; regret flooded her veins as the other woman retreated with disappointment shining in her eyes. Mac had to resist the urge to pull her close again, let happen whatever would. But it wasn't about what she wanted.

“I thought...”

Hazel didn't get any further, she trailed off, looking so upset that Mac couldn't help but touch her shoulder. A pair of green eyes looked at her, muddy with emotion.

“So it was nothing?” the woman stated quietly, straightening her back in a vain attempt to save her face.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Mac asked, shaking her head. “You ran off this morning without a word of warning and now you are asking me, if last night meant nothing?”

“I didn't want to be discovered.”

“Why? Were you of the opinion that there was anything to be ashamed about?”

It was said with so much annoyance that Hazel took a step backwards, shaking off Mac's hand that had still been holding onto her. The doctor already regret her harsh words. She understood, of course she did. Probably Hazel's retreat had been for the better and yet, she couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment about having woken another morning alone in her cold bed. Anger glittered at her from Hazel's eyes.

“How am I to know, what your Miss Fisher would make of me sneaking through her house at dawn?” she asked.

“Phryne does not care who I am losing my heart to.”

Mac resisted the urge to slap her hand over her mouth. Probably best to pretend she had never said that. Her heart was racing in her chest, as she watched the slow, subtle change on Hazel's stunned features.

“Say that again,” Hazel whispered hoarsely. Mac stubbornly shook her head.

“You heard it the first time.”

She tried to ignore Miss Morgan closing the gap between them again; the golden sparkle in the eyes that were now the colour of grass; the smell of her perfume. God, she really had to ask her what she wore. Elizabeth took a deep breath finding a resolve.

“As much as I want to, I can not... just do this, Hazel. It needs to mean something or you have to let go now.”

Mac's eyes begged her lover to be honest with her, make a decision the one or the other way. She found she was holding her breath. Waiting. Longing. The dice fell.

 


	15. Peach Tree

Miss Fisher had really intended to look for Jane, but she didn't make it further than the terrace before she had been caught up to by someone willing to talk to her. Really, she was still recovering from the shock of being welcomed into the Inspector's family. It was surreal. She had expected a lot of reluctance, but what threw her was someone who wanted her to be with Jack. It was quite laughable really. The person she ran into on the terrace didn't seem to hate her much either. It was Wendy Robinson, her future sister-in-law and that recognition threw Miss Fisher for another loop in the roller coaster that this trip turned out to be.

“I think we might be getting bad weather today,” the blonde stated, glancing at the grey sky, “I hope it won't damage the harvest.”

Phryne hadn't even thought about that factor and felt briefly ashamed for having had to swallow down a nasty comment about Wendy's investigative talents. Indeed, the rather boring clouds from this morning had turned into threatening mountains of purplish-grey.

“Is the lavender at stake?” she asked, before remembering that she really had little idea of agriculture.

“Aunt Esmeralda thinks, it should be quite safe. It is between the harvests right now and unless it turns out to be a severe hailstorm, it shouldn't damage the new blooms. But the orchard and her lettuce are another story,” Wendy explained. She smiled, as laughter sounded through the garden.

“Those two don't seem to be bothered by it much, though.”

Phryne followed her fond eyes down to the garden, where under the pear trees, Jack was swinging his little niece around in a gesture that was probably meant to be an aeroplane. At least, that's what she would have gathered from Lizzy's outstretched arms and the strange noises, her fiancèe was making while he spun the girl through the air. Lizzy Robinson was giggling like a maniac. When her uncle finally set her down, her head had turned bright red from lack of breath.

“Again!” she demanded.

“Later,” Jack smiled.

“Now! Pleeeeeease.”

Phryne could see Jack's heart melting at the big eyes turned towards him. Finally he surrendered under heavy siege.

“They have been thick as thieves ever since Lizzy was born,” Wendy spoke into her thoughts, “I sometimes think, she was really the only reason that made him come back to us back then.”

Her words took a moment to register, while Phryne smiled at the touching scene of her lover making a fool of himself to please a five-year old. It was beautiful. Then she realised that she had no idea, what her conversation partner was talking about. She opened her mouth to enquire, when Wendy said something else, that shocked her.

“He would make the most wonderful father.”

Phryne swallowed hard, looking back at Jack and Lizzy with a new light on them. She knew, that Jack's sister-in-law meant well. For most women, that notion would have been highly reassuring. But Miss Fisher wasn't most women. And the worst part was that Wendy was completely right: Jack Robinson had been born to swing children through the garden, making weird growling noises like a dying motorcar. Phryne could see it. Her heart shrank in her chest at the sight. Her own words rang in her ears. She had promised to make him the happiest man she could manage, yet, this she couldn't give to him. She shook her head slowly, decisively. Then remembered something else.

“Have you seen Jane by chance? She seems to have gone somewhat missing?” she asked her conversation partner, desperate to change the subject and flee the scene.

“I believe she was headed to Aunt Esmeralda's sitting room to listen to the wireless with some of the girls,” Wendy informed her, still watching her daughter, who was laughing so hard, that she had started to hiccup. Miss Fisher excused herself in a hurry. She couldn't watch the happy scene any longer.

Still trying to shake the images and thoughts invading her brain, Phryne climbed the stairs to the private rooms of her hostess, when Jane emerged from there, rushing towards her foster mother.

“They broadcast heavy storm warnings, we need to tell Aunt Esmeralda.” Miss Fisher didn't have time to process the sudden title change, as the Mistress of the house was currently climbing up the stairs herself, looking even paler than usual.

“That was Audrey van Baskin on the phone. Apparently a storm has just destroyed her friend's crop harvest and it is heading in our direction. I know it is terribly rude, but I will have to go and oversee the peach harvest myself. See what we can save, before the storm hits.”

“That's ridiculous!”

Both women stared at Jane for a moment in awe. Aunt Esmeralda cleared her throat.

“I really am terribly sorry, Jane, but-”

“No, I mean it's ridiculous that you have a house full of people and your harvest is going to waste. What is family for, if not to pull together in the time of need?”

Phryne couldn't suppress a proud smile.

“I believe I mentioned that my daughter is a very smart young lady, Mrs. Cox-Stafford.”

The woman currently looked half gobsmacked, half touched.

“Indeed, she is.”

Suddenly she snapped out of it, taking charge.

“All right, I will try and gather the rest of the family to help, if you could please inform the group up here and we shall meet at the north side in lets say 10 minutes?”

The women agreed and Esmeralda bustled off busily, all at once completely Mistress of the situation. Jane turned on her heel to rejoin the sitting room, but Phryne took her arm and shoved a piece of paper in her hands.

“Ring Mr. Butler. I think we might need his clear head round here and also, I don't want him to be alone over at the villa in a storm.”

Jane nodded and retreated downstairs. Miss Fisher straightened her skirt. Time to head into battle.

 

X

 

The two women were seated on the edge of the bed in silence.

“Don't you think it is a little exaggerated to expect a promise of life time commitment from me after knowing you for the whole of two days?” Hazel asked miserably.

“I am not,” Mac stated calmly, her arms firmly locked over her chest, “I am expecting an answer if this is to be a small summers fling or something to be taken seriously.”

Instead of replying, the other woman stared out the window, where the wind threw the branches of a tree against the glass.

“I don't think there is any summer to speak of anymore,” she pointed out cheekily and was disappointed, when she didn't even provoke a small smile in her companion. Silence fell, making room for the first signs of the oncoming storm. Mac listened to the blood roaring in her ears. Hazel played with her fingers.

“I never told anyone,” she finally admitted.

“Nobody at all?”

The younger woman shook her head.

“I am frightened that it will change what they think about me. How they feel about me.”

Mac glanced at the face beside her. She was stunningly beautiful, she realised with a start. The woman was breathtaking from her current perspective. If things were different, Hazel Morgan would have men falling all over her. She probably did still and maybe she even pretended sometimes to care. Mac's heart ached. How hard this thing made it to live and breath every day. It was so unfair. Her anger dissolved into a feeling of deep compassion. So, they had drawn the Black Peter in the card game of life. But maybe it would be easier with a companion by their side. Hesitantly she reached out her fingers, weaving them through Hazel's. The woman looked up, unshed tears glittering in her eyes, but she returned the gesture with a soft pressure.

“You know, the people who matter don't stop caring because you are not the way they thought you are.” Mac said quietly, knowing that that was only partly true. Maybe the rest of the world didn't really matter, but it cut you all the same.

Hazel didn't answer for a long moment.

“If this is to happen, then I don't want to hide you,” she finally whispered, “I want it to be real. I want to bring you home, like Jack his Miss Fisher and I want them to know and to care and be happy.”

Mac pressed her hands. It might have been just dreams. But they were beautiful and possibly, someday, they could be reality. They had time.

 

X

 

It had been easier than she had expected. Laura had surprised Miss Fisher the most. In something very much resembling gumption she had shoved her half asleep son at her surprised husband, straightened her back and marched to the stairs before Phryne Fisher had finished her explanation. Fred had looked after his wife as if lightning had stroke him, then a small glimmer appeared in his eyes that Phryne hadn't thought him capable of. So, there was actually a man hidden under the boring suit. Interesting. Then he actually started humming his boy to sleep and Miss Fisher had withdrawn, Olivia Morgan and Iris Walker in tow, before she could be seriously startled. She had shed her company however to look for Mac and Hazel, in the suspicion that she might find them together and therefore, family members were probably not a good inclusion to the scene. She might have also ripped open the door with a little too much enthusiasm, as she heard a small, rusty lock give way. On the bed sat the two women she had expected, holding hands. Hazel flinched, trying to jump to her feet, but Mac grasped her hand firmly and pulled her back down to her side.

“Phryne? What gives us the pleasure of you breaking down the door?”

Miss Fisher smirked. So, she had been right. Hazel looked like she wanted to die, but her hand held firmly onto her lovers.

“I wanted to inform you two love birds that there is a storm coming.”

The doctor glanced out the window.

“You don't say?”

“I do. We are assembling the family right now to help bring in the fruit harvest, before there is nothing left of it.”

Hazel Morgan got to her feet, this time successfully.

“We better go help.”

“Of course”, her lover sighed.

Reluctantly the doctor let go of the hand struggling free from her. Just dreams. But the glittering in the eyes of her friend told her that there were different people in the world too and that meant, there was a chance that the prejudices would change - someday.

 

X

 

By the time the trio arrived at the orchard, Mr. Butler was already standing on a ladder, instructed by Esmeralda Cox-Stafford. His ability to magically appear as soon as he was needed obviously didn't abandon him even in Daylesford. Plenty of people had assembled by now, helpful neighbours, farm workers, some servants and of course, plenty of family. Jack was hanging in a tree, his three-piece would probably be ruined by the night, Phryne thought, but his face was flushed and he resembled a country-boy, climbing the magic trees of his childhood. It was utterly charming. Underneath him, Iris and Lizzy were collecting peaches that had missed the basket, a picture that brought several other stabbing emotions back to Phryne's chest. Miss Fisher shook them off. She had no time right now for this. Instead the approached her Inspector.

“Don't fall off the ladder, Jack.”

“I'll try my hardest, Miss Fisher.”

“I'm serious, Jack, despite what you might have heard, it's not a romantic ritual.”

He smiled, dropping a peach only slightly past her face, hitting one of the “bruised” baskets squarely.

“I will remember that, Miss Fisher.”

She grinned back, then took her orders from Aunt Esmeralda. She ended up accepting apples from the hands of Walter, sorting them into boxes after the stage of their ripening process. Wind juggled the branches by now and more than once, she was actually worried about the man falling of his steep ladder. But he staid stubbornly put, chattering and joking along and Miss Fisher found to her surprise, that she was actually enjoying herself. She had only briefly time to check for the rest of her family. Jane was hanging in the branches of a plum tree like a monkey, dropping ripe fruit into Mac's caring hands, while Hazel picked off the lower branches. Her daughter's dress would suffer somewhat to be sure, but Miss Fisher couldn't have cared any less if she tried. She couldn't help the glow on her cheeks spreading into her core. Mac actually appeared happy and she still couldn't believe how much she had missed Jane. Dot was nowhere to be seen and she was starting to get a little worried, when Uncle Walter picked up on her straying eyes.

“Where are you off to then?” He asked, smiling. Phryne looked up into his kind eyes, realising that he had been holding out a couple of apples to her for a while. Hurriedly she took them.

“I was just wondering, where Dot has gotten to.”

“Oh, I believe, she's in the vegetable garden with Olivia, fighting the snails for the lettuce,” he laughed to her relief. “But I am actually most surprised about _her_.”

Phryne followed the gesture of his chin towards a peach tree, where Prudence Stanley had actually climbed a ladder, looking slightly appalled by the lesser work but nevertheless picking fruit with the stamina of a woman who was as stubborn as she was rich, while arguing with a harvest worker, who didn't agree with her technique. Miss Fisher couldn't help but grin at the sight.

“She is a woman of many surprises.”

“Runs in the family then.”

A grey brow was arched at her, when Phryne's eyes sought out Walter's.

“I personally never had a baroness picking apples with me before,” he grinned, returning to his work.

“I am not. I am merely Honourable on bad days,” she set him straight, “the remainder of the time, I am trying to be as dishonourable as possible.”

She winked cheekily. The resulting laughter _did_ nearly throw the Master of the House off his ladder.

 

X

 

Samuel Cox-Stafford was wandering the halls of his childhood home alone. He was wondering. He had retreated with one of his law books into the library some time ago and after he had woken from the nap this utterly sleep-inducing material had provoked, nobody was to be found anymore. He felt like one of the victims in one of the crime stories he had devoured as a child. Stubbornly he refused to call out for anyone and instead marched up to a random door, when a big hand grabbed him with the strength of a vice. He found himself being pushed against a wall, much like Doctor MacMillan earlier and in actually the same hallway, but with much less pleasurable results. The man hovering in front of his face was almost white and sweating heavily.

“Where is it?” he spat, “I searched everywhere, and it's not there!”

“What are you talking about, man?!” Samuel exclaimed, once he had gotten over the first shock, trying to straighten, which turned out to be a rather complicated task with Charles Crossley not two inches away from him.

“You know what I am talking about! Where did she hide it?”

The angry face came even closer, if it was at all possible. The young student swallowed hard.

“How would I know?” he whispered.

Charles Crossley was about to raise his fist, when he heard a door open. Turning, he saw Fred stand in the door, looking at him sternly. The small boy in his arms was soundly asleep.

“I think that is enough, Crossley,” he said firmly. The man retreated. Samuel pushed himself away from the wall, straightening his collar.

“Thank you, but that was unnecessary,” he said to his brother-in-law. Fred Simmens-Cox-Stafford shrugged and went on to put his son to bed.

 

X

 

 

By the time the last peach had found it's place in the sheds and the last apple had been moved to the cellar, thunder was growling. Jack climbed from his ladder with sweat pouring down his face, but a satisfying sense of achievement. Spinning on his heels, he looked for a familiar face. His father was currently busy accepting with a grumpy expression a basket from Lizzy. Jack hadn't even noticed him helping, but found himself somewhat relieved that he was. The person he was looking for however, was nowhere to be seen.

“Vegetable garden, love,” Esmeralda explained, rushing past him with a box that smelled suspiciously like lemons.

“Right,” Jack Robinson murmured to himself. It was that easy then. They had been looked through and met approval. A small smile spread over his lips, as he made his way to the veg garden, where an unusual picture greeted him. While Wendy and Olivia were busily shoving lettuce into boxes near the fence, Miss Fisher was crouching in the dirt, gently peeling ripe tomatoes off their plants.

He was about to say something, when lightning tore the sky in half. An angry wind roared around them, making their clothes flutter.

“I think we better get inside, Phryne,” he almost yelled, “no use in the tomatoes surviving and you getting struck by lightning.”

“I'm almost done”, she said, quietly, calmly, taking more ripe fruit and adding it to her box. She looked up briefly when he crouched down opposite of her and joined into the picking. There was just no point in trying to talk sense into Phryne Fisher. She wasn't scared of danger. Sometimes he wanted to strangle her for that. But when he looked up, there was a smear of dirt across her cheek and he couldn't help but reach out and gently wipe it from her face. Her cheeks were flushed as a resultof the hard work and a black lock of hair was stuck to her forehead. She was beautiful and his heart beat faster as his unseeing hands kept picking. Soon, there was no tomatoes left. But instead of heading inside, she shoved the box into his hands.

“I will be in in a second,” she yelled against the thunder. First raindrops left small craters in the dirt. The Inspector watched on in astonishment, as she pulled up the seam of her skirt and fished her knife out of her garter. The other ladies had retreated with their harvest, only he was standing in the vegetable garden like an idiot, unable to resist feeling torn between logic that told him that he should grab his lover and make for the house and a part of his brain that had entirely other ideas at the sight of her white thigh. To his astonishment, she started to cut off a bunch of sunflowers that curiously peaked over the white fence, shaking in the wind.

“It would be a shame if they were lost,” she stated, as if it was normal to risk her life for flowers. The drops grew heavier now, adding wetness to the already sweat-soaked back of the Inspector.

“Phryne!” he urged, but she finally seemed happy with the result and with an armful of glowing yellow flowers, she rushed past him.

“Come on then, Inspector. Didn't your mother teach you to not be outside in a thunderstorm?”

The Inspector turned, chasing after her, while lightning dipped the world into blinding brightness. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, when they reached the house. Seconds later the clouds broke open to pour down a shower of water. Panting he stood on the veranda, staring into the curtain of falling rain, her heavy breathing beside him, the smell of sunflowers and fresh tomatoes mixing with Phryne Fisher's perfume. Life was wonderful!

 


	16. Rhubarb

A change of clothes and the related conclusion that Mr. Butler was indeed a saint with psychic abilities later, the heroes of the fruit-harvest collected around a table for afternoon tea. It had been a long time since breakfast. Also, most of them had indulged in an unusual amount of physical activity and so the first minutes of the meal where dominated by ravenous silence, while the storm raged outside. The sunflowers were spread in vases around the sun room, that currently had heavy rain beating against its windows.

Finally Aunt Esmeralda lifted her glass.

“I would like to propose a toast. To this family, that has proven today that it stands together in times of need.”

She winked at Jane, who had the decency to blush.

“Thank you. Especially to our guests, who have worked as hard as the rest of us.”

Approving muttering and clinking glasses were the answer.

“Actually I rather enjoyed myself,” admitted Miss Fisher.

“That was certainly due to the company,” Walter Cox-Stafford pitched in to collective amusement.

Someone grumbled something.

“Pardon me, John?” Aunt Esmeralda asked.

The man cleared his throat loudly, while eyes turned to him. Then his back straightened.

“I was saying, this is exactly what I would expect Miss Fisher to say.”

Jack Robinson froze, mid-bite, then swallowed hard as his father continued.

“It is common for people who never had to work a day in their life to enjoy the occasional tinkering,” John Robinson explained, steel-grey eyes glued to Phryne, who was utterly silent. Jack wanted to protest that Miss Fisher worked hard on her cases, had in fact not been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but found himself completely speechless at the openly shown hostility. Instead, another voice rose to Phryne's defence.

“Funny you should say that, Mr. Robinson”, Mac challenged casually, her hand, disguised by the table cloths, wrapping around Hazel's for reassurance.

“When I met Miss Fisher we were both up to our elbows in the blood of dying soldiers, working rather hard, as I recall.”

For a moment John Robinson seemed thrown off his balance, then he recovered. He opened his mouth to say something certainly cutting, when Jack found his voice again.

“That's enough, father!”

For a long moment the two Robinson's just glared angrily at each other, then the father's eyes faltered. Jack dared to breath again. He felt the sudden urge to flee the tension that was still hanging over the table and laid down his serviette to excuse himself under Phryne's worried eyes. Chatter picked up again, when John Robinson also stood, pushing over a cup that spilled coffee all over the tablecloths. Nobody took any notice.

“So you are just going to run away again, are you?”

Jack spun on his heel in the doorframe, when the next verbal punch came.

“Just like after your mother's death.”

After a moment of shocked silence, Jack Robinson's voice had dropped another ten degrees.

“You would do better to leave mother out of this!”

John Robinson threw his own serviette onto the puddle of coffee blindly.

“Why? Just because you decided you couldn't care less about your family after she had passed? Anna would turn in her grave, if she knew that you were doing it again.”

Aunt Olivia's calming hand had come up to lie on her brother-in-law's arm soothingly, but he shook her off. Jack's face went greyer and greyer at every hit to his stomach, his heart and his bones. The shock outweighed the pain. They had never spoken this open and certainly not in public.

“Mother would have wanted me to be happy,” he pressed out, “unlike you, father, she wasn't a stranger to love and she embraced it.”

This blow hit the older Robinson squarely in the chest. But the shock didn't last long. The rage was too great, too long bottled up, to be silenced now.

“So this is what you call it then? Love?” he huffed, “getting married to the wrong woman yet _again_? I do not have to remind you of your first attempt, do I?”

“Certainly not, father!” Jack's voice could have cut glass at this stage and Phryne found it increasingly painful to watch his face twist in hurt. Yet, she couldn't move. This was his battle, her heavy limbs insisted. His alone. “And I do recall that you disapproved of Rosie all along, so you should find satisfaction in my defeat.”

At this, Iris's curious eyes widened in shock. Miss Fisher guessed, she hadn't known this tiny detail either.

“Satisfaction?” John snarled, “In the disgrace of my son getting divorced? Hardly! But I did warn you that it wouldn't last and I was right.”

“Well I guess, that is a feather to pin to your hat. That you were right,” Jack said, sounding suddenly tired, defeated. “But nevertheless you couldn't be more wrong this time.”

“I beg to differ.” John prompted sullenly. Jack glanced at Phryne, who stared at him with a mixture of affection and worry and something changed in his eyes.

“Time will tell, won't it?” he smiled wryly. “Phryne, would you like to accompany me upstairs. I believe, we have a murder to solve.”

Miss Fisher got gracefully to her feet and accepted his arm, trying to ignore the subtle tremble of it. With a last cold glance at his father, they left the room. In the moment of silence following, sounded a well-timed clap of thunder while people stared at each other in disbelief. Then all hell broke loose.

 

X

 

 

Jack was still shaking all over, when they arrived upstairs, but he hadn't lied. He indeed intended to investigate. Miss Fisher wasn't surprised. She had found out some time ago that this was his default method of dealing with emotional pressure. Running was out of the question with the heavens still open outside and he hadn't brought his cigarettes. So, a murder was probably better than him drinking himself into oblivion. As long as he was the policeman and not the killer, of course. Even though she wouldn't have blamed him all that much in this particular instance.

Watching him half absorbed in thoughts, she finally peeled the key to Uncle Walter's office from his trembling fingers and pushed it into the lock. He didn't say a word till the door had shut behind them, then sank into Miss Spencer's chair, seeming to shrink. The pride with which he had ended the argument had gone, and in its place was a son who had just lost his father. She could feel the pain come in waves of him and felt tears pricking in her own eyes. Nevertheless, he pulled a folder towards himself and started riffling through it, as if the answer to everything was hidden amongst the bills for lavender oil and rhubarb. Miss Fisher stood for a long moment, wondering what to do. Then he glanced up at her, his fingers aimlessly searching for nothing in the piles of paper.

“I am sorry”, he said, making her want to laugh hysterically. “My father is a very stubborn man.”

“Runs in the family,” Phryne quipped, sitting down.

He rewarded this with a half-smile, returning to his work.

“So, what are we looking for?” Miss Fisher asked, grabbing herself a pile of letters.

“I'm not sure. But there must be something here or Crossley wouldn't have been so panicked at Miss Spencer's death. According to Aunt Esmeralda, the pair weren't particularly fond of each other.”

“Do you think he is involved in her murder?” Miss Fisher asked, dimly remembering the tall man, she had briefly been introduced to.

“Maybe. I definitely don't trust him.”

“Yes, but as I recall, you do not trust anyone, Inspector.”

He looked up from studying a business letter at this, glancing at her, with a tiny grin to his lips.

“That is certainly not true,” he protested. Phryne couldn't help but smile at the implication, without however tearing her eyes from the page.

“Jack, do you still have that piece of paper that we found in Miss Spencer's house?”

The Inspector produced the requested item seconds later, watching her with bated breath as she held it beside the page.

“I think we better call your Uncle up here,” she stated quietly.

“What is it?”

Phryne looked at him, suddenly completely serious.

“I believe, somebody has been cheating.”

 

X

“I didn't think I would ever say this, but I am ashamed of you, John.”

A flash of lightning underlined Esmeralda's harsh words. The Lady of the house, who was usually so friendly, at present looked like she wanted to strangle her brother-in-law. John Robinson sat stoically on his chair, pretending not to care about the wild, angry chatter around him. He couldn't ignore however being directly addressed.

“That is of course up to you, Esmeralda,” he replied coldly, getting to his feet. “Don't worry, I will be out of your hair first thing tomorrow morning.”

“You cannot seriously intend to leave without speaking to Jack?!”

The voice belonged to Iris. An approving murmur sounded along the table.

“I believe, my son and I have spoken quite enough,” John said, turning to the door. In the chaos of emotion nobody appeared to notice the slight sway in his step, causing him to hold on to the edge of the table. Almost nobody.

“I'll accompany you upstairs,” Olivia said beside his ear, taking his arm without an invitation. John looked like he wanted to blow her off, but thought better of it.

They left the group of excited people behind and walked in silence up the stairs, towards John's guest room with it's view out onto the currently heavily rain-battered orchard.

The man sank into a chair under the window, his companion sitting down opposite from him.

“You are an idiot, John.”

Surprisingly this wasn't an insult, just a statement. Mr. Robinson didn't seem to have heard her. He was staring out into the first gloom of the evening.

“And don't I know it?” he mumbled after a moment of silence, absent mindedly rubbing his chest.

“Do you need your pills?” Olivia asked. A shake of his head was the only answer she got. She pulled herself to her feet and poured him a glass of water that John Robinson drained in one gulp.

“She is going to make him unhappy”, he said, more to himself than his sister-in-law.

“Well, I'm not sure, which conversation you were participating in, John, but the only person hurting him down there was you.”

His eyes flew up at her, studying her face. But Olivia Morgan sat back down with her usual grace and no sign of hostility. She had known her brother-in-law for many years. They returned to staring out the window in union, watching the trees being shaken brutally by the raging storm.

“I just don't understand, why she would want to marry him. He has nothing to offer.”

Olivia's eyes widened in sudden recognition.

“Oh, dear God.”

John Robinson had visibly shrunk in his armchair, fiddling with his empty glass. Right now he looked like a small boy, realising he had broken his grandmother's vase.

“John! Look at me.”

Reluctantly he obliged.

“Anna loved you. God knows why, since you are such an old grump, but she did.”

A small, tender smile accompanied that sentence that belied the harsh words. Mr. Robinson stayed silent for a long time, turning her words in his head.

“Miss Fisher isn't Anna!”

“And thank God for that. It would be rather disturbing if Jack had fallen for his mother.”

Despite himself, a tiny grin snuck onto the former policeman's features, reminding Olivia how much father and son were really alike. It was astounding, how two men could hurt each other so much, without realising how deeply they loved each other. Sighing, she pulled herself to her feet.

“Just so we are on the same page: if you should decide to leave without settling this first, I shall not only consider you stupid, but also a coward. And I would hate to do that.”

“I will take that into consideration,” John mumbled, staring out the window. He was pondering and it was probably best to leave him to it, but she had one more thing to say.

“John, Anna isn't coming back. But she would hate for you to drive your son away, you know that.”

He nodded silently, without turning his head. Olivia pulled the door shut behind herself and took a deep breath. Her work here was done. But there was still plenty to take care of.

Walking down the corridor she wondered, if Jack really had gone investigating his case or if he too was hiding somewhere to ponder. It was strange, or possibly it wasn't, that he had always gotten along better with his mother, despite having inherited so much of his father's stubbornness and sense of justice. What a shame that John had lost his own over Anna's death. She prayed that this could be mended. If she had hoped to find Jack alone to talk to him, she was disappointed however. Walter's loud voice reached her through the closed office door.

“This is impossible! How could anyone do this?”

Olivia knocked politely and pushed the door open. Three pairs of eyes turned to her.

“Is it a bad time?” she asked.

“Not unless you consider my employees stealing from me a bad time”, Walter spat and Olivia closed the door behind herself hurriedly.

“What?”

“We found some manipulated numbers in the books,” Jack explained. “In fact, a piece of paper we discovered in Miss Spencer's home seems to be the missing piece of the puzzle. It points quite clearly to the differences.”

“Which means she must have known about it,” Phryne said thoughtfully, sharing a look with the Inspector.

“And all of this right under my nose,” the Master of the house cried. “How could I have been not aware?”

Olivia laid a calming hand on his shoulder, that he patted gratefully.

“You trust your people, that is not a bad thing.”

“Well it is, if they decide to abuse it!”

“Do you have any idea, who it might have been?” Jack asked his Uncle. He pulled the folder to himself again, studying the numbers again, as if he couldn't trust his eyes. Then he shoved the paper away in disgust.

“Must be Crossley or Miss Spencer. Nobody else could have faked this.”

“Well, we can't ask Miss Spencer anymore,” Jack stated, “but where is Mr. Crossley?”

“He left before the storm hit. Supposedly he wanted to be with his family,” Walter grumbled.

“Well, we can hardly blame him for that,” Phryne stated, looking out into the rain. “It looks like there is little we can do, till the weather has settled. So, Walter, do you play chess?”

Mr. Cox-Stafford overlooked the blatant attempt to distract him from the disloyalty of his staff, mostly because Miss Fisher had turned her most charming smile in his direction. He wondered for a moment, if it was a good idea for her to leave Jack to his thoughts. His nephew still looked rather pale around the nose, but then Olivia was here and he had noticed a certain urgency in her expression, that told him, she was dying to have a word with the Inspector himself. So he chose to offer his arm to the Honourable Phryne Fisher with utter gallantry.

“Only in entertaining company. The game is too boring in itself for dull people.”

She laughed at this and winked at Jack before leaving. The lady-detective hadn't missed the intention of his aunt either.

 


	17. Poppy

Jack Robinson was too enthralled in his reading material to pick up on his aunt still hovering. Or at least, he pretended to be. He could imagine, why she was here. He had been going through the conversation again in his head numerous times. He had overstepped lines. There was no denying it.

Finally, she sat down. In anticipation of the scolding, he stubbornly stared at the numbers swimming in front of his eyes.

“Did your mother ever tell you that I was with her, when she got the telegram?” Olivia Morgan asked into the rainy silence. He looked up, questions in his eyes.

“We sincerely regret to inform you...” she began flippantly, then trailed off. “It didn't sound overly sincere, for a letter telling your parents that their son might be dying.”

Jack gulped. He had to admit, he hadn't thought much about the effect his battle-wound would have on his parents at the time. A knife in your stomach had a tendency to render you rather uncaring for anything but the pain and the fear it brought along with it.

“She never talked about it”, he finally replied quietly. “Not once.”

“Yes, that is what I thought.” Olivia stated calmly, leaning back in her chair. “Anna never talked much about the things that hurt her. A bit like you.”

Jack smiled at this.

“I believe, she went into a cleaning frenzy, scrubbed the whole house till everything gleamed. But she didn't say a word about being scared to death that you might not come home.”

The Inspector's eyes clouded over at this. He hadn't known and yet, he had. He had known it from the letter he could hardly decipher, because her hands had been trembling when she had written it, from the over enthusiastic words that had always given her true emotions away, from the way she had held onto him, when he had finally walked off that ship, dirty, tired and broken. He had seen it in her eyes that day. The endless nights she hadn't slept and the days she had spent worrying and praying that God would not take either of her sons away from her. It had probably not even occurred to her that he might not come home the same man he had left. Olivia's voice ripped him from his painful memories.

“Your father didn't share her frenzy though.”

Jack locked his eyes with his Aunts, wondering what she was trying to tell him. That his father hadn't even cared back then what happened to him? The next words she said, hit him into the heart.

“He sat down and cried.”

Jack shook his head slowly, wondering if he had misheard.

“I think it was the only time, I ever saw John Robinson weep. Even after your mother's death, he would not show his pain in public. But I will never forget the picture of your father sitting on this old wooden kitchen table and crying bitter tears of fear, Jack.”

The Inspector was too deeply shaken to answer. His tongue was lying in his mouth like lead, unable to move, his brain fuzzy with images, his chest crowded with emotion. It was impossible, yet there was only truth in Olivia's eyes.

“But... why?” he pressed out, still unable to comprehend the meaning of this. It was too big to wrap his head around.

“Oh, Jack,” Olivia sighed, “are you really asking this? Because the old fool loves you, despite being incredibly good at hiding it. You are his son!”

Olivia Morgan watched her nephew sit behind the desk as if he had frozen in time. She wasn't certain weather to laugh or cry at the expression of disbelief displayed on his features. As if it had never occurred to him before, that his father might be deeply attached to him.

“Jack?” she asked, after a while, trying to make sure that he hadn't forgotten to breath.

The Inspector awoke from his stupor, rubbing both hands over his face and getting to his feet. Suddenly the room was too small, the whole house claustrophobic, with the storm outside turning it into a prison. Jack's insides had fallen into chaos. Even the argument with his father, while painful, had not managed to confuse him as much as the picture his aunt had painted him. He needed to be alone. To think. Blindly he stared out into the pounding rain, wishing for Olivia to leave. He was aware of his own rudeness, she meant well, was trying to soothe his pain. But she couldn't. Nobody could. Jack realised with a start that he was lying to himself. Someone was able to and the longing burned inside him with sudden intensity. He didn't need to talk to her, just be held in her arms for a little while and he would be all right.

“Excuse me, please.”

Jack noticed that he was stumbling over his words, that his aunt looked gobsmacked. Obviously she had expected her revelation to have a different effect on him. But he couldn't explain right now. It was as if she had ripped a blindfold away and the light was burning in his eyes. Before his aunt could utter another word, he had rushed past her, thinking feverishly of where in the house there was a chessboard to be found. He almost crashed head first into the person who had just raised her hand to knock. Esmeralda stared after her nephew in wonder, before turning to her sister-in-law.

“Is he all right?”

“I believe he is taking after his father,” Olivia Morgan stated.

“The poor boy.”

The two women shared a smile.

“You wouldn't happen to care for a cup of tea?” Esmeralda offered after a moment of thought.

“I think I am in desperate need of one,” her sister-in-law answered and pulled herself upright. With Olivia taking her host's arm, the ladies walked down the stairs in companionable silence. They had done what they could; now it was up to them.

 

X

 

 

Rain flooded the yard, when the dark car halted in front of the villa. The woman climbing out of the backdoor pulled her coat over her head for protection; yet, she was drenched by the time she reached the main door. A lady with snow-white hair answered, before she had a chance to knock. 

“Abigail, dear God, child you will catch yourself cold. Where is your husband?” Miss Rucci babbled, following the young woman down the hall like a shadow.

“Joseph is still in Sydney. We met Lord and Lady Gregories the other day and he is buttering them up at the moment, hoping to get invited to their annual hunt. That would certainly do his business connections a world of good. And you know that we could do with that.”

Miss Rucci hummed acknowledgement at that, watching her Mistress towelling her hair that the water had left in a darker shade of red than usual.

“So, you decided to come back without him? Travelling all alone is not good, my dear, it is a long way from Sydney.”

Abigail Barton laughed at this.

“I have a business appointment tomorrow morning that would have been very rude to post-pone. You are always concerned about us, but you do sometimes forget that we are not five anymore. Madelyn and I can take care of ourselves now, Miss Rucci.”

She didn't notice her former nurse's face falling, till she turned from disposing of the damp towel.

“Ma'am, I have to tell you something,” the old lady said gravely, “you have to be very strong now.”

 

X

 

 

Inspector Robinson had concluded that the library was the most obvious place for a game of chess. As it turned out, his investigative skills had let him down. When ripping the door open, expecting to see Phryne and Walter bent over a board game, he found himself instead confronted with Fred. A furiously blushing Fred, who shoved a piece of paper into his pocket in a hurry, stammering something inaudible in a scene that reminded Jack of a silent movie. The Inspector came to a screeching halt, wondering if he should enquire into this. But for once the lover won over the policeman, nodding at his cousin's husband and politely shutting the door behind him. Whatever Fred had to hide in his pockets, it was none of his business. Possibly he should have cared more, but the truth was that he had been never overly close to Laura. He even wondered, if she had neglected to invite him to her wedding or if he had just forgotten about the letter altogether. Either way, he suddenly felt guilty. Jack attempted to shake the feeling off. Maybe one couldn't be close to everybody in a family, just because one shared a blood line, he mused.

A female figure came towards him in the hall. The hope that it might be Phryne was dashed quickly. Iris looked at him with an expression that he knew.

“Have you seen Miss Fisher?” he asked in a vain attempt to escape his cousin's attack.

“No. But I would like a word with you.”

Before he had a chance to protest, she had ushered him into a small salon and sat him down into an armchair, while she paced the room.

“Why didn't you tell me, your father didn't approve of Rosie?” she asked.

Jack buried his face in his hands. He had no patience right now for Iris's worries about her friend.

“What would that have changed?” he asked with fake calmness. “And father didn't disapprove of Rosie so much as he did of the fact that she is Sanderson's daughter.”

Iris stopped in her aimless wander across the room to stare a her cousin in confusion. Jack felt the need to explain.

“He thought that the connection with a high flyer like Sanderson would discredit my work as a police officer. That's why he warned me off marrying Rosie. And as far as I am aware, he has never said a word to her face. I believe, he was rather fond of his daughter-in-law actually, if it is any comfort to you.”

Jack couldn't help the bitterness tinting his voice. He didn't want to talk about Rosie right now, not about Sanderson, not about his father. He was done talking. But to his surprise, Iris suddenly crouched on the floor in front of him and clutched his hands in her's.

“Why on earth didn't you share this with me? I was so proud to have introduced you to the woman you wanted to spend your life with. And I was even prouder to be someone you would confide in. Yet, you never said a word!”

Jack held onto his cousins hands, battling the tears climbing his throat.

“Rosie is your friend,” he finally choked out.

“Yes, but you are my cousin _and_ my friend. And the annoying big brother I never had.”

“You are older than me”, he pointed out, with a teary half-smile.

“Three weeks doesn't count”, Iris pouted.

Jack straightened his back, but didn't let go of Iris's hand, despite the knot of fingers turning sweaty.

“I didn't want to hurt by telling you father was being his charming self about your friend,” he explained, after a pause.

“So you rather suffered on your own? You are rather daft sometimes, Jack.”

“I am slowly reaching that conclusion myself.”

“About time.”

There was just silence and rain, two pounding hearts and a knot of sweaty fingers. After a long moment, Jack cleared his throat, looking into a pair of eyes that hadn't changed since they had been 12, lying in the enchanted garden, reading silly poems to each other.

“I need to ask you for something.”

“Anything. Despite, you know, immoral things, murder, oh and chess is definitely out of the question,” she quipped. “I hate chess.”

He tightened his grip on her hands, looking serious.

“Iris, I really, really need you to not hate Phryne.”

To his astonishment, his cousin burst into laughter.

 

X

 

“Checkmate.”

Phryne smiled wryly at the winner of the game. She was well aware that she had made it too easy on Walter Cox-Stafford. But the acute absence of Jack worried her.

“Something tells me, that you are usually better at this particular game,” the grey man stated, collecting his pawns from the board.

“I fear, I cannot deny that,” Miss Fisher sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“Things will work out, don't you worry your pretty head.”

Usually a sentence like this would have brought Phryne's blood to boiling point, but it was said with so much good natured sincerity, that she decided to let the “pretty head” slip. He spoke to her like to a member of his family because, she realised with a start – that was what he truly considered her. What surprised her even more was, how much she longed to be part of Jack's family. Even though she could have done without her father-in-law, but then, her Inspector couldn't.

“I do not want to be the reason for Jack losing his father.”

The truth was out, before she had time to even consider it and who she was sharing it with.

“You aren't”, Walter said, while she watched him replace his figures onto their fields. “I rather believe they have lost each other some years ago, they just started searching again now. And that is going to be a bit of a painful process with two pig heads like theirs,” he smiled, his moustache twitching in humour.

A knock interrupted their conversation, before Phryne had a chance to enquire further into this process of losing. In her opinion it was rather hard to lose parents as a general rule. Mostly, they stuck like glue. The maid standing shyly in the door had order to call the Master of the house downstairs to figure out something or other about dinner with his wife and sighing, Walter obliged.

“I do hope, we continue this soon,” he smiled to Miss Fisher, leaving open if he meant the game of chess or their conversation. She stayed behind, leaning back and staring out into the storm with unseeing eyes. Did she have a right to get involved in Jack's battles? Was it possibly even her responsibility now, as his future wife? Miss Fisher was really not very good at the etiquette of being anyone's wife, but something told her that she should stand by her man's side in time of war. She got to her feet in the resolve to search out the battlefield and her man on it, when the door flew open.

 

X

 

Jack's heart was still pounding in his chest, when he picked up his search for Miss Fisher. The longing for her had intensified during his conversation with Iris.

The world may have ended for all he cared, if only he could crawl into Phryne's arms right now. The world outside, slowly slipping into darkness, indeed seemed to have every intention to do just that. Instead of letting up, the storm had only grown heavier over the past hours. Lightning dipped the corridor into blinding light for a second. Blinking into the following darkness, Jack ripped a random door open.

 

X

 

A half knock was the first thing John heard of his visitor, like someone tapping on the door, while trying not to drop something occupying both hands. The first thing he saw, was a bunch of sunflowers sneaking through the gap.

“I come in peace,” Jane quipped behind a tray that held beside the flowers, also a cup of tea and a plate with biscuits.

“What are you doing here?” John asked suspiciously, but not as harshly as he had intended.

“I am, quite obviously bringing you some tea and biscuits,” she stated. “But I am also curious.”

She sat down, without being invited and Mr. Robinson didn't protest, despite wanting to.

“Curious about what, young lady?” he asked instead, inspecting the contents of the cup. Esmeralda knew exactly how he drank his tea and that he loved shortbread, which made it so much harder to resist her peace offering.

“About you, of course. I never had a grandfather before.”

His eyes flew up, surveying the girl sitting opposite him with a policeman's eye. She was pretty, he realised, very pretty actually and quite young, but with oldness to her eyes. This girl hadn't had an easy life, but she was happy now. So he had to admit, Miss Fisher couldn't be all that horrible.

“You are aware, that I am not really your grandfather?” he grumbled, taking a biscuit, despite himself.

“I am not stupid,” Jane stated calmly. John shook his head. That she definitely wasn't.

“So, what do you conclude then?” he asked, between bites, not even admitting to himself that he actually cared about what the girl thought of him. She raised an eyebrow, sizing him with clever eyes.

“Not bad,” she finally said, stealing a piece of shortbread from his plate. “Bit rough round the edges maybe, but workable.”

“Much obliged,” John replied sarcastically, but had trouble fighting back a smile.

“This whole family thing does however work better, if the people involved _do_ talk to each other,” she continued casually.

“If you are trying to convince me that I should apologise to Jack, get in line,” John mumbled under his breath.

“I don't think that's necessary.”

Mr. Robinson couldn't hide his surprise at this.

“You know yourself, that you will have to do that, so what's the point?” she shrugged, smiling and fishing for the last biscuit.

“If you are to be my granddaughter, you have to learn one thing, girl.”

He grabbed the shortbread before she could get a hold of it, biting into it with a soft crunch. Jane watched him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, as he chewed grinning, before stating:

“The last one is always mine.”


	18. Iris

Will and Jack Robinson stared at each other in disbelief, the former still with half unbuttoned pants. The latter cursing his timing and lacking memory of the room layout.

“I'm sorry,” he finally stuttered, “wrong door.”

“Jack?” his brother called after him. The Inspector sighed inwardly. Obviously his whole family had taken this afternoon as a reason to talk to him about random events in the history of mankind. He really just ached to wrap his arms around Miss Fisher and forget about all of them for a little while. Despite that he stuck his head back through the door to the guest room, where Will was by now reassuringly dressed again.

“Come in please, and pull the door shut.”

Jack obliged, his jaw clenched. So here it finally was, his scolding for attacking his father. To his surprise, Will sat down at the edge of the bed, looking at him as if he didn't know what to say. He himself stood near the door, kneading his hands in front of his body.

“Look, I really-”

“Why did you disappear, Jack?”

The Inspector sighed deeply. Yes, everybody seemed to have joined in. Astounding. He hadn't spoken to Will about anything serious in a decade. It used to be different, he remembered and a strange ache he had almost forgotten, reappeared with the realisation. He drew a deep breath and sat down beside his brother. So, the truth.

“Phryne and I... we have been living together for a while. In 'Sin'. Father was less than impressed.”

Will nodded.

“So you decided to ditch your whole family, because father refuses to accept your sweetheart and your living arrangements?” he asked after a long moment of silence. Putting it like that, it sounded ridiculous. Jack found himself chewing on his lip.

“Lizzy has missed you, you know?”

“I'm sorry, Will.”

Startled, Jack realised, that he truly was. His brother didn't answer.

“I have missed you, too.”

The statement came almost tonelessly. Neither of the men looked at each other. This was not a subject they were comfortable with.

“It was never about you,” Jack said after some time. “Father is just sometimes unbearable.”

“I know,” Will smiled, “he is _my_ father too, if I may remind you.”

Jack nodded slowly. Pondered. Decided for more truth.

“I think he's never forgiven me.”

A pair of grey eyes sought out another.

“Forgiven you for what?”

The Inspector stared at the floor.

“Mother's death.” When his brother stayed speechless at this, he continued. “If I hadn't run into that stupid knife, if I had worked my marriage out, maybe she would have had enough strength to battle it.”

Will Robinson blinked slowly. His voice was back to his normal, deep tone, when he spoke again.

“Oh, for God's sake, Jack. The world doesn't revolve around you!”

This time it was Inspector Robinson's turn to be speechless.

 

X

 

Miss Fisher found herself in the company of a rather charming young man, who had obviously taken it upon himself to amuse her. So she surrendered to being amused, despite her wish to go and find Jack. Samuel Cox-Stafford was definitely interesting company, yet, she felt vaguely uncomfortable. He was quite different from his father, whose attention she had learned to cherish quickly. Samuel's charms were much more refined and much more fake. Nevertheless, she told him the best detective stories she could think of and laughed at all the right places at his own anecdotes. But she hadn't missed that he had also edged closer to her over the last minutes. When he took another liberty, she decided to draw the line in the sand.

“You seem to have accidentally grabbed my hand, Mr. Cox-Stafford,” she pointed out sweetly, trying to retrieve her fingers from him.

“Not quite accidentally, I will have to admit,” he replied, without letting go. “I find your company utterly charming.”

Phryne wondered if it would threaten her standing in Jack's family if she broke his cousin's fingers. Unaware of this, Samuel looked at her in a way hat he probably considered seductive and she had to acknowledge he did possess some talent in this regard. In the same second a brief knock sounded and the door opened, yet again, to reveal Iris. The look she shot Samuel could definitely have killed on the spot and his hand flinched back involuntarily. Phryne could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Of all people, Jack's beloved cousin had to catch her in this compromising position. She barely resisted the urge to curse in a very unladylike manner.

“Miss Fisher,” the other woman said, “I would like to speak to you if I may. Alone!” The last word was aimed at Samuel, who got the hint and left, his head held high. When the door closed, Iris sat down. Phryne cleared her throat.

“Mrs. Walker, before you say anything, I feel obligated to point out that I was indeed not flirting with your cousin, no matter the appearance.”

There was a pause in which the ghost of a smile flitted over Iris's features.

“I know. Samuel has considered himself the reincarnation of the great Casanova since he was 15 years of age. I hope he grows out of it eventually.”

“As do I. Otherwise he will end up with broken fingers.”

Iris actually laughed at this and Phryne breathed a sigh of relief. Then Mrs. Walker turned serious.

“As it turns out, Jack is still rather worried however that there might be some hidden hostility between us and I came to clear the air, if there is in fact anything to be cleared, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne searched her brain for words to brush this off, but she could not find any. So instead she tried the truth.

“I realise, that your loyalties are lying with Rosie Fletcher and therefore, it is close to impossible for you to like me. But I _do_ love Jack”, she explained. “And I have no intention of betraying his love or his trust.”

To her astonishment, Mrs. Walker smiled at this.

“I know that. Truth be told, Miss Fisher, I had a suspicion the very first time I saw you.”

Phryne's forehead fell into creases, trying to remember this moment. She recalled Jack not even being there. But Iris shook her head when the detective opened her mouth.

“I'm afraid, you were asleep at the time. With your cheek on Jack's left knee, if I remember correctly.”

Puzzle pieces clicked into place in Phryne's head.

“The kidnapping? You came to see him afterwards?”

“Of course I did. Sanderson didn't want us there, said he didn't have the manpower to protect the whole clan from the Brownings as well. But Rosie snuck me in.”

Iris offered Phryne a cigarette that she gratefully accepted. Being reminded of Jack's kidnapping and resulting battle for his life, never failed to stir in old wounds.

“I couldn't stay. But it was long enough to realise that Jack wouldn't let go of your fingers, though the rest of him was off with the pixies in his fever delirium. It scared me.”

She lit her cigarette, taking a deep draw, before giving fire to Miss Fisher.

“I never quite understood why Rosie was so miffed about your appearance up to that moment. Jack had almost convinced me that you were business partners, friends at the most, before this happened. But I didn't see two friends that day.”

Miss Fisher nodded, pulling on her own gasper. Her fingers were trembling, she realised with a start. Of course she could have protested that they had been only friends then, but it would have been a lie. The other woman just continued conversationally, as if they talked about the weather.

“I realised that he was in love with you and I'll readily admit that I didn't like that prospect much. Rosie _is_ my friend and has been since our school days. And she felt quite jealous, which I can't really blame her for.”

“She was engaged to Sidney,” Phryne pointed out, trying to defend herself from the lingering accusation of being a home-wrecker.

“So she was. But jealousy does seem to have a tendency to be irrational,” Iris mused. “Mind you, Sidney was an odd choice, if you ask me. I always thought, she downgraded her standards somewhat after Jack.”

“I couldn't agree more.”

For a long moment, the two women looked at each other in quiet understanding. Sidney Fletcher had turned out to be not only an odd, but also a terrible choice on Rosie Sanderson's part. But at least he had married her and made her a decently rich woman before being transferred into the afterlife by a serial-killer with a grudge.

“He also seemed to enjoy rubbing it into Rosie's face that Jack had moved on to a 'fling with a rich bird'. 'Don't worry love, she'll break his heart and you'll be the one laughing'.”

Miss Fisher barely repressed the curse lying on her tongue.

“And Rosie wasn't the only one who readily believed that you were toying with Jack, I will admit.”

Iris's conversation partner stared at her, deeply offended, before opening her mouth.

“I would never toy with Jack. In fact, our relationship has brought many adjustments to my life. And I try to embrace them, because he is making it so much richer.”

With tears pricking in her eyes, Miss Fisher stared at Jack's cousin, ready to defy her. But Iris nodded after a moment of silence.

“I allowed myself to be biased and judgemental. For that I will have to apologise.”

Phryne leaned back. Smoke curled between them. Iris seemed to have run out of things to say and so they didn't talk for a long time, while rain poured down the windows of the parlour, they were sitting in.

“Did Jack ever mention that he withdrew from his family before?”

Miss Fisher swallowed.

“I gathered it from conversation.”

“Of course you did. You are a detective after all,” Mrs. Walker smiled. “It was about... let me think. Five or six years ago.”

“After his mother passed?”

Iris nodded, rubbing out her cigarette.

“And Rosie had relocated to her sister. He suddenly dropped off the edge of the world. I wouldn't hear from him for weeks, months at times.”

She seemed to be off now in her memories and Miss Fisher let her talk, not bothering to wonder where this was going. Iris Walker didn't seem to be a woman, who just rambled on for no reason.

“One day I decided to pay him a surprise visit. His house was cleaner than I had expected it. Possibly with a few more empty bottles in the bin than I wanted to find. Jack was pretending to be happy to see me, despite being a terrible liar. But what really made my heart stop was something else, Miss Fisher.” She paused as if not sure if to share this. “His pistol was lying on the kitchen table.”

Phryne's eyes widened in shock. Inspector Robinson was quite insistent on not taking his weapon home unless there was imminent danger. And Iris's eyes told her that she knew that as well, as she lit another cigarette.

“I don't know, if it was to do with a case,” she said with a tiny shrug. “I was too much of a coward to ask then.”

Phryne burned her fingers on the ashes of her cigarette that had gleamed dangerously far down. She disposed of it quickly.

“What happened?”

Iris smiled vaguely.

“I forgot to go home that evening. We talked all night about nothing much important. The next morning, his pistol had gone and I've never seen it at his house again. But I always wondered if he had seriously played with the thought.”

Phryne shook her head. Suddenly, everything had fallen into it's place.

“When he withdrew again, after the falling out...”

“I was scared,” Iris finished her sentence. “And I am aware that that is no apology. God knows, I was rude. But I do care for Jack and if you broke his heart, you would have to deal with my wrath, Miss Fisher.”

“Duly noted,” her conversation partner said, “And I wouldn't expect anything less from you.”

She stretched out her hand.

“Phryne.”

“Iris.”

Thunder growled into the resulting silence. Both women grinned.

 

X

 

Jack felt a little lightheaded. He had been called an idiot and several other unfavourable names repeatedly over the duration of the last hour. He guessed it was the unique right of a little brother to do that and the unique duty of a big brother to accept it and give a good beating in return. Sadly, he wasn't fond of violence and so had listened to his brother's scolding mostly in silence. It had started with “Despite your belief, mother did not die to spite you! People die! You should know that as well as nobody else, _Detective-Inspector_ Robinson!” and ended with “And if you ever let my little girl down again, I'll come to your door myself and give you a good trashing.”

Since Will towered about a head over his big brother by now, this was a threat to be taken seriously. It hadn't been pleasant, yet Jack felt like something had shifted. Like a badly healed wound that his brother had opened with more force than finesse but nevertheless in an attempt to finally get it right. It burned, but it was also freeing. Wandering through the shadows of the corridor he spotted someone in the dark.

“Jack?”

His heart did a leap, as Miss Fisher stepped towards him and relief flooded his veins. He had to control himself to not just leap at her.

“Where have you been?” she asked. “I've been looking for you.”

“That is a long story,” he smiled, grasping her hand to take her to somewhere with some privacy. “And I have every intention of telling it to you, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne followed him with mixed feelings. There was something oddly giddy about him that she had not quite expected. But the fingers wrapping around her's were warm and familiar and she allowed herself to be lead wherever he would take her.

 

X

 

Elisabeth MacMillan tried to remember. She usually was much better at this, she found. Her confusion hadn't let her take much in, when Hazel had pulled her through some door this morning. There were plenty of doors in Wombat Hall. Probably, the doctor could have asked someone, where Hazel's room was. Nobody would suspect anything if she intended to spend a little time with the other woman, they did obviously get along. The one upside to being drawn to your own gender was, that people didn't find it odd or jump to conclusion when you showed open affection for each other. Women were meant to be friends. But something held her back in revealing even this much of their secret to the rest of the world. She herself would return to Melbourne soon and possibly with the exception of Phryne's wedding, would never have to see anyone in this family again, if she chose not to. Hazel had to deal with them and Mac didn't intend to let her get hurt. Deep in concentration she turned a corner, bumping into someone soft and also incredibly wet. A curse was uttered and then there were steps hurrying down the hall. Mac stared after the dark figure in the gloomy light, when she noticed the puddles he had left on the floor. She sighed. If someone had come through this rain to sneak through the shadows, Jack and Phryne should probably be told. Then again, she had no idea, where they were either. And there were plenty of doors in Wombat Hall.

 

 


	19. Bitter Almond

Behind one of the many doors, Jack Robinson and Phryne Fisher had crawled under the covers of their guest bed, intending to leave the world outside for a little while. They hadn't bothered with the lights and instead just lay in the darkness, the rain drumming an ever steady rhythm against the window, their limbs wrapped lazily together in the sort of mosaic that is reserved for familiar lovers, who had time to grow accustomed to sharp elbows and misplaced knees and found ways to avoid them without giving up on a centimeter of skin. Phryne's cold feet were currently wedged between the Inspector's legs, a motion that he sometimes protested, but didn't have the heart to, today. He had been right. Being with his lover had settled his thoughts. His head felt heavy and warm now and he had to fight the urge to just drift off to sleep.

“Jack?”

He murmured an answer without opening his eyes.

“Did you ever consider shooting yourself?”

His lashes flew open to find her watching him with intense eyes, dark in the dim light. He cleared his throat.

“Where did that come from?”

“I talked with Iris,” Phryne stated, as if that would explain everything. Jack racked his brain to find a situation, where his cousin could have picked up any suicidal tendencies from him. He came up blank.

“It's a rather straight forward question, Jack,” Miss Fisher prompted, when she didn't get an answer. The Inspector looked at her, wondering if he could get away with a lie. What was the point in worrying her about things long past?

“Once or twice,” he heard himself admit quietly.

“Right,” Phryne said, closing her eyes. Her only other response was that her arm seemed to curl around him a tiny bit tighter. Jack found himself confused. What had been the point to this question, if she didn't want to know the details. Her hair tickled on his naked chest as she snuggled into him.

“You aren't going to interrogate me further, Miss Fisher?” he asked, stroking her head gently.

“No,” she mumbled, somewhere in his chest. “You will tell me when you want to.”

He smiled to himself, letting his own lids flutter shut. In the darkness behind his lashes he lay still, listening to the numbing sound of the rain and her steady breathing. Against all better intentions, they drifted off to sleep.

 

X

 

 

Esmeralda stared with worry at the empty seats around her dinner table, which were numerous at this point in time. Walter grabbed her hand and pressed it gently.

“They will come,” he whispered, only loud enough to hear, “you just wait and see.”

Esmeralda shot him a fake smile while watching Hazel and Doctor MacMillan walking through the door. Her niece was laughing. It was nice to see her happy for once. Somehow Esmeralda always got a melancholic vibe from the girl, despite her big mouth. As if she hadn't found her place in the world. Right now she looked utterly relaxed and Esmeralda couldn't help but feel grateful, that she had struck a friendship that brought her out of her cynical shell for once. And the doctor seemed nice enough.

“I apologise for being late, Mrs. Cox-Stafford. I seem to have gotten lost a little in your corridors. Your niece had to rescue me from a terrible fate,” Mac quipped, hinting a bow, before casually pulling out the chair for Hazel. Esmeralda smiled. This time it was genuine. Mac didn't explain that really she had run late trying to follow the mystery man down the corridors after she had gotten over her first confusion, in a twisted game of hide and seek. She had lost him somewhere near the servant entrance and truthfully, her devotion to Phryne's detective work hadn't gone far enough to follow the dark man out into the still raging storm. The stamina of this particular spell of weather was rather astounding. As if it had decided to pay all it's attention to this particular country-estate, expressing the tensions between it's occupants in its natural power. But then, Mac didn't believe in nonsense like that. Stormy nights as backdrop for secretive behaviour belonged into crime-novels. She sat down, returning her attention to Hazel, who had in fact rescued her from the basements with it's countless doors that didn't lead anywhere much but to cleaning equipment.

It was just as well that she did, as the lady of the house had returned to staring impatiently at the doorway and her watch in turn. She had sent up Jane with some tea what must have been two hours ago. Esmeralda Cox-Stafford had also known John Robinson for a long time and she sensed that he was impressed with the girl. Intelligence was something that he appreciated in his conversation partners and paired with Jane's charm, she harboured the hope that the girl would be able to wiggle herself into John's crusty, old heart, despite all his efforts to defy her. Yet, their places were still empty. So were Jack and Miss Fisher's.

As she thought this, Iris and Will wandered through the door, chatting animatedly while they sat down between their spouses. It was an unusual picture, they didn't really seem to talk a lot and Esmeralda couldn't stop herself from eavesdropping briefly. The subject of their conversation was Jack. There had obviously some things taken place under her roof of which she was unaware. As long as it brought people closer together, the lady of the house didn't mind this at all, but the stubbornly empty chairs worried her.

Laura also seemed to grow impatient for her still missing husband. She too looked quite lost, with her little son asleep in a bed somewhere, as if she had forgotten how to behave when she was not a mother. Esmeralda's heart went out to her daughter. She knew that Laura wasn't happy with the life she lead, yet she couldn't seem to point her into the right direction. It was her own failure, Esmeralda concluded. She hadn't taught her daughter to demand what she wanted and picking Fred felt like the ultimate defeat. As if she had surrendered to not deserving anything but a boring marriage with a boring man. Fred wasn't a bad husband, far from it. He loved her daughter, Esmeralda knew and he did his hardest to fulfill her every desire. It was the desires, Laura lacked. She'd given up wanting things in the self-fulfilling prophecy, that she wouldn't get them. Some days, her mother just wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.

Mrs. Cox-Stafford's attention was drawn back to the door by the arrival of Jane. The girl was on her own and her heart sank, when she watch her spin, laughingly calling to someone coming down the corridor.

“I am coming and don't you dare calling me an old man again, young lady,” John huffed, stepping through the door.

“Well, you are dangerously close to being my gramps. Or grumps rather,” the girl quipped, while Esmeralda dropped into her chair as if the weight of the world had fallen off her shoulders. Walter shot her a 'I told you so' look, that he had perfected in their first years of marriage, a very long time ago.

“And you are dangerously close to a spanking, young lady,” John scolded, with no sincerity at all. He greeted the rest of the table with a brief word, obviously content to just ignore his earlier outburst and found his place across from the still empty chairs of Jack and his fiancée.

While Fred slipped through the door, noticed by nobody but Olivia, the former policeman made a show of looking at his watch.

“Well, it seems my son and his Miss Fisher have forgotten the time.”

Only people who knew him very well could have seen the anxiety hidden in his shoulders. Unfortunately there were quite a few of those sitting at this very table.

“That seems to run in the family. But I have just sent a maid upstairs to fetch them,” Walter explained. “I am getting rather hungry myself.”

“Maybe we should start without them,” Esmeralda concluded. “I have not cooked myself tonight, but I hear there is a lovely lamb roast waiting in the kitchen.” An appreciative murmur rose around the table, mostly in anticipation of a dinner not prepared by Aunt Esmeralda. The new maid slipped in and whispered something to the Master of the house, who frowned. Curious faces turned to him when he cleared his throat.

“It seems, Jack and Miss Fisher aren't answering their door. We might have to eat without them.”

Walter tried his hardest to ignore the unhappy features of his wife, who had trouble holding on to her composure. He knew that she had so hoped for things to resolve themselves and to everybody's surprise, John had come around. And now Jack was sulking in his room. He had really thought Miss Fisher had a better influence on the boy.

“Maybe they aren't in?” Jane tried, who obviously was also disappointed. “They often wander off for some investigation or other.”

“It seems they have locked themselves in,” Walter pointed out, aware that he was dashing hopes. There was more silence, while people busied themselves with glasses and cutlery, trying to not look at each other.

“Oh, this is just ridiculously childish.”

John threw down his serviette, deep, angry creases across his forehead. Before anyone could stop him, he was already out the door. Uncomfortable silence settled over the group. After a long moment, Olivia got up and followed her brother-in-law to calm him.

“I better look after Phryne,” Prudence Stanley said. “She might be wandering off a lot but pouting in her room does not seem like my niece at all.”

“I'll join you,” Mac decided, with a look to Hazel, who nodded. “Something might have happened,” she added, thinking of the dark man in the shadows.

“Well, if you think that, girl, we better all come,” Walter concluded, “we did have a murder in the house recently.”

“You don't actually think...?” The voice belonged to Iris, who had paled, while slipping to her feet.

“We had better go and find out if they are all right. Probably there is a perfectly sensible explanation.”

Esmeralda shuddered at the idea, that her nephew might have been killed and laid a hand on her husband's arm. The dining room emptied, as people trod up the stairs in groups. When a maid brought the lamb roast a minute later, she found only a desolate table and the candles burning.

 

X

 

John Robinson was already rapping loudly at his son's guest room door by the time Olivia caught up to him.

“Jack!” he yelled, when there was no reply. “Stop acting like you are five!”

Olivia put a soothing hand to his shoulder, but it didn't stop John from raising his fist again, belting the door. Movement was to be heard from the room, quiet whisper. A few seconds later, the key turned in the lock, revealing a blurry-eyed Jack clad in nothing but a pair of Pyjama pants, about three sizes too big on him.

“What's going on, father?” he asked, supressing a yawn. At the same time, the rest of the cavalry arrived.

“What's going on? You have been missed at dinner! We were worried!” John all but yelled at his sleepy son.

“We fell asleep.”

“We?” John parroted, as Miss Fisher stepped out of the shadows behind her fiancée, donning a hideously frilly night dress, a loan from the lady of the house. John's mouth fell open.

“They are staying in the same room? Under your roof?!” he exclaimed towards Walter, who had pushed in front of the quiet family.

“They are getting married, John,” Walter pointed out calmly. Mr. Robinson searched the faces around him for support, but nobody seemed to really find the situation as offensive as himself.

“They are not married yet!” he said coldly, turning to his son, who was taking up the doorway as if trying to shield Phryne from the wrath of his father. But she wasn't having any of it, and pushed beside him, grabbing his hand.

“What is it to you, Mr. Robinson?” she asked calmly, realising that it was the first time, she addressed him. Adrenaline was chasing through her veins, as if she had been confronting a killer. To be fair, there was a murderous twinkle in John's eyes.

“I do not know what life you lead, Miss Fisher,” he spat. “But my son is from a proper family. His mother raised him into a decent young man. And I will not allow him to be corrupted by some floozy, titled or not!”

Breathless silence spread around the room. Phryne looked like she had been slapped, an angry thunderstorm was brewing over Jack's head, and Iris and Mac were both about to unleash their wrath onto John Robinson, but someone else was faster.

“I will not have you speak about my niece this way!”

Prudence Stanley pushed forward, pulling herself to her full height of a very small woman with a very big personality. John looked at her confused. He had not actually noticed her before. When Mrs. Stanley spoke again, her voice vibrated in anger.

“Phryne may be a little wild, but she is also a very decent woman, who has been nothing but kind to your son, since the day they met. Your son would not be alive if it wasn't for my niece! So, if you want to judge someone, why don't you start in your own family.”

Her eyes locked with Mac, then swept over to Hazel. Phryne begged silently for her not to say it. As much as she was proud of her aunt right now, this was not the way to do it.

“Your nephew is a cad. He tried to touch me inappropriately this afternoon”, she finally spat, causing Samuel to turn bright red. Mac let the breath go, she had been holding. She had been scared for a moment that Aunt P had discovered her relationship with Hazel. Then she caught the eye of the old lady that held a certain twinkle and realised, that she had. Gratefulness flooded her veins.

“So I am supposed to overlook this, just because Miss Fisher has disarmed some gun man along the line and Samuel is being a spoilt brat?” John asked.

Jack found his voice again, letting go of Phryne's hand and stepping right into his father's face.

“There will be no need to overlook anything. Because, I am done, father! I have given you plenty of liberty over the last ten years. You had a chance to lecture me about anything under the sun you chose to. But tonight you have gone too far. I am done with you! Please don't bother to speak to me ever again!”

The door was flung shut into John's face, before he had a chance to answer. Seconds later a key turned. Nobody said a word. Lightning stroke for dramatic effect and was disappointed, when nobody paid attention to it. John turned, the angry red having turned from an angry red to chalk white. He swayed gently, like a leaf in a breeze.

“Father, are you alright?” Will tried to grab John's arm in a steadying gesture, but was brushed off.

“Leave me,” John mumbled. The crowd parted to let him past. His head held high, he walked through his family and waited, till he had reached the safety of his guest room, before he leaned against the door and wiped the tears from his eyes, swearing loudly.

 

X

 

In a dark corner of the hallway, unknown to any of the collected family, stood Mr. Butler. It hadn't been his intention to eavesdrop. He had heard a rumour though, that his Mistress was in trouble and he had come to find out from her, if he needed to be worried. Had he known that this merely was about a missed dinner, he could have dissolved the situation easily. Miss Fisher and her Inspector missed plenty of dinners. They usually were distracted either by a murderer or by each other, sometimes both. But what he had heard, disturbed him more than the proximity of danger could have. His own parents had passed a long time ago, but the notion of losing them was still indelibly etched in his mind. He wished none of this on Inspector Robinson. Watching the family retreat back downstairs, Tobias Butler wondered if he should enquire after his Master's well being, but he knew that Miss Fisher was with him. She would find the right words, better than any he could summon. He was only a butler, after all. Sad and defeated, he walked back down the stairs, when a hand snuck around his arm.

“Are you alright, Mr. Butler?” Dorothy asked, who had lingered for a little while longer in front of her Mistress's room, probably pondering the same thing as he.

“Perfectly fine, Dorothy,” he lied. “How are you doing, so far away from your home?”

She smiled.

“I feel better since the phone call this morning. Hugh misses me.”

“That is lovely,” Mr. Butler smiled, “He also is not on his way to India, which makes it even more lovely.”

“Pardon me?”

“Oh, nothing, Dorothy. You had better get back in, they seem to have started dinner.”

“How they can eat right now, is beyond me,” Dot stated miserably.

“They are a big family. They probably see a lot of arguments and they know, that people who love each other usually work it out,” the butler smiled. She still looked so upset, that he took a liberty and kissed the girl on the head. She rewarded his affection with a small smile. Watching on as she stepped into the dining room, he wondered if he could really give all of this up. Then he sighed and returned to his place in the kitchen.

 


	20. Tobacco

Phryne was looking at the bed in silence. Jack hadn't moved in ten minutes, just sat there, his hands wrapped over his head, staring onto the floor. When she crouched down, touching his knee, he flinched.

“Jack, talk to me,” she whispered. His arms fell beside him on the bed while he lifted his head to look at her. His eyes were bright red, like he had refused to cry out of pure stubbornness. Gently, Phryne ran her hand down the side of his face in an effort to wipe the pain away. He sat still without tearing his eyes from her, looking tired, defeated.

“You were right,” she said with a wry smile, “your father is a piece of work.”

“I don't have a father,” he replied hoarsely. Phryne shook her head.

“Don't say that, Jack. You argued. It happens in the best of families.”

He gently peeled her hand from his face, holding it between his.

“We seem to do nothing but argue. And I am through with it. He will never get a chance to insult you again. Or Jane. Or me, for that matter.”

Phryne slipped to her feet and sat down beside him.

“What are you proposing?”

“That we head back to Melbourne as soon as this storm is over. And we will get married and my father will not be on the guest list.”

There was more resolve in Jack's voice than Phryne had expected. She understood. Jack was hurt by his father's words, but that was not the point. He was protecting his own family: Jane and herself. Her heart beat faster in a mixture of affection and worry.

“I think you should sleep on this, Jack,” she said gently. “Don't make any rash decisions.”

“There is nothing rash about it. He has been a pain for years,” Jack protested, but allowed her to guide him into a lying position, pulling the blanket over him and switching off the lights again. Phryne crawled on the bed beside him, cradling him to her chest and gently stroking his hair, as if she was trying to soothe a child. After a while she felt the wetness of silent tears soaking through her nightdress. She just kept running her fingers through his hair, rubbing calming circles onto his back, watching over him. Eventually, Jack fell asleep. Phryne lay still for a while longer, her back aching from the awkward position, until she was sure that he had really drifted off. He must be exhausted after a day like this one. Then she gently peeled herself away from him and got dressed in the dark. She needed some fresh air.

 

X

 

Downstairs an uncomfortable dinner had ended, but nobody felt like getting up. The long day and its dire conclusion had drained the liveliness out of the assembled people. So they just sat, sharing uneasy small talk while none of them thought about much else than the broken pieces of a relationship littered over the floor. Samuel was the first to excuse himself. He was obviously still smarting from Mrs. Stanley's accusation and had spent most of the evening silently shovelling food into his mouth with little regard to his company, which was a fairly unusual occurrence for him.

Fred left shortly after, wanting to look in on his son, who usually didn't sleep this long. His wife's suspicious eyes followed him out the door, before she was side tracked by Hazel, who did her best to engage her cousin in a conversation instead of spending every waking moment resisting the urge to cuddle up to Mac. The Doctor took her cue to also leave, wishing for a cigarette, and so she missed the excitement to follow only minutes later. A sharp rapping sound at the door tore the company from their thoughts. Since he knew the servants to take their own dinner at this time, Walter got up to open the door himself. A hooded figure stood on the top of the stairs, backlit by a flash of lightning. The woman stepped past him with a small curse on her lips and shed the hood of her raincoat.

“What terrible weather,” she exclaimed, her exotic features pulled into a frown.

“Mrs. Santi!” Dot called from the open door to the dining room. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I passed by the villa, but there was nobody there. So I came to see if you had been caught by the storm,” the woman explained, past the still speechless Master of the house. Only now did she seem to realise that she was being rude and extended her hand.

“Riya Santi. I am so sorry to interrupt your dinner, but I was worried about my friends.”

After exchanging the pleasantries, she looked back at Dorothy and it occurred to her that her friends hadn't even known that she was in Daylesford up till now.

“It is a long story,” she explained.

Walter had caught himself. Miss Fisher definitely had interesting and very attractive acquaintances.

“Let's hear it,” he prompted, taking the soaked coat from the woman's hands, “it seems to me this is the perfect evening for a good story.”

 

X

 

Mac longed for a cigarette. Being forced to spend an evening in close proximity to Hazel without being allowed to so much as touch her, was torture. But she didn't dare overstep the line, even to friendly behaviour any longer. They had been spotted by Mrs. Stanley, God knew when. She still felt grateful that the woman had chosen not to expose them. But they were walking on thin ice nevertheless. God, Phryne and Jack had been busted for sleeping in a bed together and they were of the 'right' genders.

Mac was in a good mood to find the room Mr. Robinson stayed in and strangle the old man. How she hated prejudices and the pain they brought. Still steaming, she approached the library, where she was sure to find some stray cigarettes and also hopefully a glass of something with high alcohol content, when she froze in her step.

A young man was standing there and even though he had turned his back to her, she recognised him instantly. Samuel Cox-Stafford was currently pulling a pile of letters from his pocket and shoving them into the flames of the fireplace. Mac held her breath, wondering if she should rush in and salvage whatever evidence she could, when she heard another set of feet come down the corridor. Silently, she stepped into the shadows, watching Fred walk past her. His brother-in-law turned in shock, when he approached, trying to hide what he was doing by standing in front of the fire that hungrily ate the pieces of paper.

“I see you had the same idea,” Fred smiled, pulling a piece of paper from his own pocket and throwing it onto the pile. Samuel's eyes widened, but he didn't say a word.

“She was a very dangerous woman, Miss Spencer, was she not?” Fred pointed out conversationally, still getting no answer. Mac had almost screamed, when a hand touched her shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” Phryne asked her friend.

“Eavesdropping,” Mac whispered back, putting her finger to her lips. Obediently Miss Fisher slipped into the darkness beside her. But the men seemed to be done talking and after a few more minutes, they also appeared happy with the destruction of their letters and retreated. As soon as their steps had vanished down the hall, the two women were in the room.

“Water,” Phryne called, while trying to fish a piece of half burned paper from the fireplace. Mac riffled through the small bar, but came up with only highly alcoholic drinks. While that satisfied a part of her, it would not do much good against the fire. Then she spotted a vase with sunflowers that had made its way up here. She flung the greenery onto the next chair and emptied the container over the flames. The fire died with a hiss, spitting a cloud of smoke at the woman. Pulling her jacket over her nose the doctor stepped backwards.

“Not quite the form of smoking I was hoping for,” she joked, when they had ceased coughing. Miss Fisher was already crouching at the fireplace, fishing in the still warm ashes for any remainder of the paperwork the two men had burned. A piece of a letter was blackened, but still readable.

“A love letter,” she concluded after running her eyes over it.

“Seems to me a rather physical description of love,” Mac frowned. “And not a overly erotic one, if you ask my opinion.”

“I believe you were not the target audience,” Miss Fisher teased, searching through the rest of the ashes, but in vain. There was only tiny pieces of paper left, one or two words here and there that caught her eye, but little to be concluded. “You are missing most of the body parts described.”

“Story of my life,” her friend grumbled, finally lighting her desired cigarette.

“I don't think Hazel minds,” Miss Fisher smiled, sinking into an armchair, while carefully placing the salvaged piece of erotic amateur literature onto the table.

The doctor glanced at Phryne, wondering what she really made of her affair with Hazel. She had never really spoken much with her friend about either of their respective life styles. They had just accepted that they were different, yet now Phryne was embracing a 'normal' life, marrying her Inspector and she herself was still the social outcast.

“I am happy for you,” Miss Fisher said, as if she had read her thoughts. Mac let that sink in, before she answered.

“I think your aunt is having her suspicions.”

“And I believe you are right.”

Mac sighed.

“Don't worry about Aunt Prudence, she will get over herself. She always seems to.”

“I am not. I am worried about Hazel and her family here.” Mac made a gesture that covered the whole house. “After witnessing the ordeal Jack went through tonight, I wonder if they will burn her at the stake for being 'abnormal', Phryne. I am scared for her.”

Miss Fisher pondered this for a while, lighting herself a cigarette. She hadn't smoked this much in years, but something about the old walls and the amount of family made her want to turn to calming nicotine.

“I don't think so, Mac. There is a lot more to Mr. Robinson's hostility than meets the eye, I believe. And the rest of the family seems quite normal, in an insane sort of way.”

She smiled.

“You mean beside ones who burn pornographic letters in the middle of the night?” Mac asked, after a pause. Phryne frowned at this. Elisabeth had a point. She had to talk with Jack about this. But it could wait until the morning.

 

X

 

Riya had enjoyed her evening. The Cox-Staffords were pleasant company and she was glad that Phryne was marrying into an agreeable family. But the one person she really longed to talk to was not sitting on their table. Confessing to her relationship with Miss Fisher's butler had drawn mixed reactions, ranging from astonishment in the Lady of the house, a slight frown on Mrs. Stanley's features to something like admiration displayed on Iris Walker's face. Obviously to the people who weren't prejudiced, there was something wildly romantic to cross class lines for love. It was hard to explain the absence of those lines to someone who lived within them and so she hadn't bothered to try. When she finally excused herself to follow Esmeralda's description down to the servant rooms, she was back to worrying about Tobias's decision. Somehow, she was not sure, which one she feared more. While Riya longed for him to come with her, to show him India in all it's beauty, she was scared that he might not embrace a life with her as much as she hoped. She knew he was happy in his position, liked his work and considered Phryne a good employer. She was also aware, that he felt deeply attached to the people living in his home and he wouldn't be able to just abandon them. But then the idea of him staying, of leaving him behind, broke her heart. Why she had ever allowed this to happen, she wasn't sure. She had been acting on instinct, followed nothing but her feelings and now they would both pay the price for her thoughtlessness. How utterly stupid of her!

She knocked at a heavy oak door, pushing it open in the same moment. Tobias Butler sat at a long kitchen table surrounded by a collection of women. The one beside him was wearing a cooks uniform and currently laughing. There was twinkle in Tobias' eyes that Riya knew all too well. He was highly amused. When the servants spotted her standing in the door, the laughter disappeared.

“Are you lost, Ma'am?” a young maid asked in a tiny voice, standing up.

“I don't think so,” Riya said, locking eyes with Mr. Butler. “I actually believe I am just where I ought to be.”

Under the confused eyes of the assembled people, she sat down on a free chair, just across the table from her lover.

“May I?” she asked, pointing at a pot of tea sitting in the middle of the table.

“Of course, Ma'am.” the same maid replied hurriedly. Mrs. Santi smiled.

“Thank you. And please drop the ma'am, I do have a name.”

Tobias looked at her, the confused frown slowly turning into something resembling a smile.

“It's Riya,” she said, lifting her cup to her lips, locking her eyes with him. “And I believe, I might stay the night.”

 

X

 

John Robinson wasn't sure who he expected, when someone knocked at his door shortly before midnight. Maybe Olivia in another attempt to talk him round? Walter to inform him, that he had overstepped the line? Will enquiring after his health? Even the girl was a possibility, despite him currently thinking that Jane would not come to him again any time soon. For some reason that thought hurt. John peeled his aching limbs from the bed where he had spent the last three hours tousling the sheets instead of sleeping and walked to the door with a sigh. He didn't really feel like company but he didn't want to be alone either. He guessed either would have to give way. The person that was standing in front of his door, he certainly hadn't expected.

“What do _you_ want here?” he asked.

Miss Fisher just walked past him into the room.

“I think we should have a little chat,” she said sweetly, sitting down and folding a leg over the other.

John found himself rather stunned and so he closed the door behind her without the slightest protest and turned with his arms crossed over his chest.

“If you expect an apology from me, Miss Fisher, you are wasting your time.”

She smiled, which unsettled him further.

“I don't, Mr. Robinson. And really I do not care for one. Neither does it matter to me if I meet with your approval. I will marry your son and experience shows that he will choose our relationship over his family if it should come down to that. I am not scared of you.”

John's blood started to boil at her cheek and he opened his mouth to throw her out in no uncertain terms, when he realised that the expression on her face had changed.

“But this is not about me. Jack is your son and he loves you. And I love him. I don't want him to hurt and neither do you.”

Deflating, John sank into a chair, rubbing his cold hands, while Miss Fisher just kept talking.

“I will be honest with you, as things stand, he is determined to cut you out of our lives. And I cannot blame him for it. Nevertheless, I will try and protect him from the pain attached, if I can at all manage to do so.”

John nodded slowly, letting her words sink in. She leaned forward with a smile, dropping her voice into a conspirational whisper.

“So, what do you think, Mr. Robinson?”

He stared at her, startled. She had a point, he realised. She also didn't look like the son-eating monster of his imagining right now, with her make-up missing and her hair slightly tousled. He gulped

“What do you propose?”

She leaned back, smiling at him with a hint of smugness.

“You stop acting like a complete imbecile and I convince Jack that we just cannot leave an open case behind.”

John Robinson couldn't think of anything to say. Truth be told, he wasn't sure how to stop acting like an idiot or he would have done it a decade ago. There was so much anger raging through his veins that every time Jack said a wrong word, made a wrong move, he seemed to lose control of his tongue. And by the time his brain caught up, it was usually too late to undo what he had done.

He swallowed dryly and wrung his hands on his lap, two gestures he would have been rather surprised to know, reminded his conversation partner strongly of someone else. Miss Fisher took his silence as agreement.

“I will buy you some time, Mr. Robinson, but you had better get this right. Because it is the last chance you will get, I know Jack that well.”

She rose without waiting for an answer.

“Have a good night, I shall see you at breakfast.”

John stared after Miss Fisher, before remembering to finally close his mouth.

 

X

 

The world lay freshly washed in the first sunlight of a new day. Even the most stubborn of storms had run out of breath some time around 3 am and had retreated pouting into the distance to find some strength to again lay havoc somewhere else. Still shell-shocked birds celebrated surviving the end of the world by singing hysterically in the wet trees. Inspector Jack Robinson awoke oblivious to the beauty of the gardens outside with a moan. Someone seemed to have repeatedly pounded his skull with a hammer during the night. The only suspect was currently lying across the bed, taking up all of the room that was not filled by his massive headache. Jack rubbed his throbbing temples, trying to sort his thoughts. The events of the last night came flooding back with terrible force, drawing another groan from him. He did not look forward to even trying to get out of bed feeling this way, let alone attempting a train trip. He also sensed that it was incredibly rude to abandon his whole family, when it was only his father who he could not stand seeing. Will had been right about that.

A part of him hoped that John would have the decency to just disappear, allowing him and Phryne to stay in peace. But his father had seldom shown any sense of the sort, so he would have to withdraw himself, once again, probably resulting in being belittled for his cowardice. Jack just couldn't bear staying under the same roof as his father at this point in time.

“Good morning,” a sleepy voice mumbled beside him, causing him to turn his aching head. Jack winced. She sat up in a hurry, disturbing the mattress and causing a wave of nausea to flood his stomach.

“Are you all right?” Phryne asked, worry edged on her face.

“Just a headache,” he explained, gently bedding his head back onto his pillow while stubbornly refusing to throw up. “I will be better in a minute. Then we can get out of here.”

Miss Fisher sized up his pale face, his clenched shut eyes and came to a resolution.

“Under the circumstances, you aren't going anywhere today, Jack.”

He pried open an eyelid with some effort.

“We need to get back,” he whispered, with no real strength behind it. But Phryne shook her head vehemently.

“All you need to do is get some sleep. I will take care of the rest.”

Jack surrendered. If more to Miss Fisher or the pain ravaging his head, he could not have said, but it didn't matter. He closed his eyes and let himself drift back to sleep. Three hours later, the shot woke him.

 


	21. Anemone

John Robinson was the last to appear in the sunroom for breakfast. To the astonishment of everybody, he gave a friendly greeting and sat down, as if the last night's events hadn't occurred. His eyes were immediately drawn to the empty chair beside Miss Fisher and his heart did a painful lurch.

“Jack is lying in bed sick,” Esmeralda informed him, who had seen the look. Her stern voice told him, that he wasn't forgiven. John nodded, starting to butter his toast in silence. He could imagine, what form of sickness his son had succumbed to. Then he realised that he might be wrong.

“Is it serious?” he asked, looking at Miss Fisher, rather than his sister-in-law. She shook her head slightly, giving him a half-smile that relieved him more than he would have liked to admit.

“You just gave him a nasty headache,” Walter stated calmly.

John dipped his eyes back to his plate, with trembling fingers spreading more butter. He realised that he deserved this. Part of him wanted to defend himself, lash out at someone, anyone, but sometime around three this morning, when the rain had finally stopped pounding against his window, something in his restless brain had clicked. He might be too old a dog to learn new tricks, but maybe if he stopped biting people, they would stop kicking him. It was the strange kind of revelation that can only come to you at three am after a very long day, but in the essence, it had occurred to him that maybe, just maybe he had played a part in Jack's refusal to be the son he longed to have again. He was not quite sure, when they had taken the wrong turn. Their relationship had never really been an easy one. But at some point he had stopped trying. Probably after Anna had died and getting out of bed had been too much of an effort most days. Will and Olivia had been regular guests at the time, even Iris and Hazel had dropped by and Esmeralda had rung every few days, chattering to him about something or other he was not interested in. Amanda even had come to live with him for a little while, to wash his clothes and cook his dinners and bear his silence. Only Jack had disappeared, like it didn't matter to him. Granted, the boy was still licking the wounds from the crumbling of his marriage, but John had actually needed him. Jack had been closer to Anna than almost anybody else in the world. She had loved all of her family, no doubt, but she and Jack had shared a secret bond that nobody could break. He of all people would have understood, how much it had hurt to stand at her grave. And yet, his son had chosen not to share it. 

John awoke to the present, realising that his hand had fisted around his butter knife. Embarrassed he reached for the jam, but nobody seemed to have noticed his slip up. He was trying to shake off the anger, and yet, he was already slipping back into it. How was he supposed to mend things with Jack if he couldn't stick to his resolve of peace for five minutes, when he wasn't even in the room? 

Miss Fisher's words echoed in his ears. 'This is the last chance you will get.' Dear God, he had to make it right. He couldn't lose Jack! 

John realised, he was being watched, possibly because it had taken him about 15 minutes to prepare one slice of toast. Miss Fisher seemed innocently busy with her own breakfast, perhaps a bit too innocently, but Jane was openly sizing him up, as if trying to figure out what to make of him. His granddaughter. But only if he fixed things, otherwise he would never see the girl again. He felt the urge to flee the chattering and small talk around the table. He wasn't hungry anymore, but forced himself to finish his piece of toast, washing it down with a cup of black coffee. He would have to play by the rules.

When the endlessly stretching breakfast finally drew to a close, he excused himself hurriedly and escaped into the garden, before either of his sisters-in-law could launch onto him. He really didn't need another speech; they had made their point. Wandering under the trees through the park, he dragged deep cool breaths of morning air into his lungs, trying to figure out how to approach Jack.

“So, what now?” a voice asked, while a hand took his arm, with no ritual whatsoever. He looked down into the bright blue eyes of Jane and swallowed. Admittedly he had not expected her to still be talking to him.

“I have no idea,” John admitted. They walked for a while in silence through the wet grass. A bird warbled somewhere in a tree, showing off and the rising sun glittered on the raindrops still hanging in the leaves. It was quite beautiful, the old man found. The girl was uncharacteristically silent and he wondered what was happening in her head.

“Your mother came to me last night. Or guardian. Whatever she might be.”

“All of it,” Jane smiled, “at times. What did she have to say?”

He thought about this for a moment.

“Basically she threatened that Jack would cut me out of his life if I did not accept her help and stop being an idiot.”

“Sounds like her. Did you agree?”

“I didn't have much of a choice.”

“That depends,” she stated vaguely.

John raised an eyebrow at the girl.

“Depends on what?”

“If you insist on being an idiot.”

She shot him a grin and he couldn't help but mirror it. They kept walking past a flowerbed where the surviving Anemones only just dared to shyly open again.

“So, do you have a battle plan? To fight the idiocy?” Jane enquired after a pause.

John stopped.

“You really aren't a very charming young lady, are you?”

“So, why do you like me then?” she asked, pulling him along with her.

“Who says I do?”

“You have been talking to me for several minutes without yelling, grumbling or fleeing.”

“I will admit I'm not opposed to your company.“

“Fine, why aren't you 'opposed to my company' then? I am the ward of the monstrous, man-eating Miss Fisher after all.”

The last sentence was said with a horrendous growl, like the narrator of a horror story and John couldn't help himself. He laughed.

“Tell me about her?” he asked, after a moment of silence, to change the subject and avoid admitting that he liked her for many reasons, one of them being, that she was _not_ a 'charming young lady'.

“About the monstrous Miss Fisher?”

“Yes. How did she come to be your guardian?”

“That was actually Jack's fault,” the girl answered. And then she talked and John listened.

 

X

 

Mr. Butler whistled under his breath while peeling apart the lettuce for lunch. Is was quite nice, working in a big bustling kitchen for once and Maria, the Cox-Stafford's cook was very nice lady, with a love for food that was rather undeniably showing in her figure. A hand ran over his back, before Riya leaned beside him against the table. It was also really nice to have her around. Possibly nice enough to consider it as a permanent state. Just as he thought this, Dorothy entered the kitchen, looking rather pale around the nose.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked, stopping his work and offering her a chair.

“Yes, I'll be just fine in a minute. I think I ate something bad.”

“No, you haven't”, cut the cook in from her place near the stove, where she was chopping herbs. “Not from my kitchen.”

Dot blushed.

“I didn't mean to imply...”

But Maria laughed and waved her off.

“I think I might go for a walk,“ the maid stated, looking like she was about to keel over. “Get some fresh air.”

Mr. Butler and Riya locked eyes behind her back, then Tobias followed the girl outside. After a moment, Mrs. Santi took up both the whistling and the lettuce separation. Maria threw her a quick look over her shoulder, shook her head and returned to her pots. She didn't have to understand rich people; she wasn't paid to do so.

 

X

 

“So, she just decided to keep you around, despite you stealing from her? She sounds rather impulsive, your Miss Fisher,” John Robinson grumbled, when Jane had finished. They had found a seat on a bench under a linden tree that was usually too sticky with sap to sit on but was currently washed clean by the thunderstorm.

“That is one way of seeing it,” the girl smiled, looking into the distance. It unsettled her future 'Grumps', more than he would have admitted.

“How do you see it then?”

A pair of big blue eye fixed on him.

“That she was there, when I really needed someone. And she never asked for anything in return.”

John turned back to staring down the garden path they had come.

“So, she is a bloody saint then?” he grumbled, after a pause. Jane laughed.

“Not exactly. But she is handy to have around. She never lets down the people she loves.”

John thought of Miss Fisher's visit during the previous night. 'I love Jack, I don't want him to hurt.' Not wrong, the girl.

“If she liked you so much, why didn't she adopt you properly?” he asked, fishing for something, anything to cement his suspicions – A task that was getting harder by the minute.

“I still have a mother. She's a bit... away with the fairies.”

John sighed theatrically.

“A wonderful family. What about your father?”

Jane shrugged.

“I guess, biologically speaking, I must have one. He hasn't introduced himself, though.”

John's anxious foot kicked at the grass underneath their feet. So this was it then? He had been trying to destroy this girl's chance to have a father. And Jack's chance to be one. Maybe his last one.

“Excuse me, I think Dot isn't doing well,” Jane said, already off the bench. The old man watched her dress flutter in the wind as she flew over the grass to see to her friend who walked on the arm of a bald man in a butler's uniform. He had fought a battle, with no idea what he was gambling with. Now he was going to lose his son – and the girl. Served him right, really. John pondered this with a deep frown, while he watched the small group wander out of sight between the hedges. A shadow fell on his lap.

“Good morning,” said Phryne Fisher. His first instinct was to brush her off, but he thought better of it.

“Good morning, Miss Fisher.”

It didn't sound overly friendly, but it was a start. Phryne sank onto the bench beside him.

“It seems, Jane has taken a liking to you,” she stated after a moment filled with bird song. “I'm sure I do not have to mention that I will make things very unpleasant for you, if you should hurt her.”

“Of course you will.”

The sat for a long time in silence, neither of them knowing what to say. But neither left either.

“Is Jack feeling better?” John finally asked, half out of politeness, half anxiety.

“He is still asleep,” Miss Fisher answered. “And I am glad that he is. Your son has a tendency to push himself too hard. As if he is always trying to prove something.”

She glanced at Mr. Robinson's face, wondering if he would understand the hint.

“You aren't implying that he is searching my approval, Miss Fisher, are you? Because I would have to disappoint you. Jack never valued my opinion much. It was always his mother's word he cared about.”

Stubbornly John stared into the distance, refusing to look at the woman sitting beside him.

“Do you know that he blames himself for her death?”

Despite himself John Robinson lost his calm facade, staring at his son's fiancée with his mouth open.

“How?” he finally stammered. “She was taken by an illness.”

Phryne shrugged nonchalantly.

“He's Jack Robinson. Carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

“And yet, you bother keeping him around?”

“Bother doesn't enter the consideration, Mr. Robinson,” she replied stiffly. Awkward silence followed.

“May I ask you something, Miss Fisher?”

“As long as I can decide if I want to answer, you may ask me anything you like.”

He kneaded his hands on his lap, while forming the question in his head and again Phryne couldn't help but feel reminded of Jack. They also had some similarities in their features, she realised. What a shame that Jack's father had so little of his gentle temper.

“What do you see in my son? Surely there must be plenty of attractive, young, rich men lined up wanting to marry you and yet, you are settling for Jack Robinson. Why?”

Phryne frowned at this and stayed silent.

“Your need to ponder this, doesn't bode well, Miss Fisher,” John said, his voice neutral.

“It is more the fact, that it is an incredibly stupid question,” she replied without missing a beat, pretending to miss the grimace on her conversation partner's face

“You do not waste politeness do you?” he observed.

“I generally waste nothing on people undeserving.”

He bit his lip at this, but had to admit that politeness hadn't been his strong point either since their first meeting.

“Fair enough. But you haven't answered my 'incredibly stupid question'.”

For a long moment, Miss Fisher didn't say anything, and he had started to wonder if she would, when she finally opened her mouth.

“It is quite hard to express it. You know that he was held captive by the Brownings last year?”

John Robinson nodded solemnly. Of course he did. He expected a romantic sob-story now, but was surprised, when her voice stayed neutral.

“I felt lost, when he was gone. The whole time, from his disappearance to the moment he woke up, I felt like there was no ground under my feet to walk on.”

This was delivered with as much calmness as sincerity, and John wondered if he had heard right. He swallowed hard.

“And yet, you walked I assume?”

A tiny smile appeared on Miss Fisher's concentrated face.

“Actually I ran. Ran for Jack's life. We found him just in time. A few hours later we would have only recovered his body, in Mac's professional opinion.. It was still a close call.”

John Robinson found himself rubbing a comforting palm over his mouth.

“I had no idea, that it was you who found him.”

Phryne glanced at him, noting the pain etched on his face, the rough emotion in his voice. So he _did_ care. She couldn't have expressed how relieved she was about the trouble showing on this face that still seemed so familiar and yet so alien to her.

“Actually it was me and good old Georgie Sanderson, oh, and Hugh,” she smiled.

“Sanderson?!”

“It took a bit of convincing, but he came around in the end.”

“Hadn't thought the old bastard could care any less 'bout my boy,” John grumbled, back to his old self.

“I think, you might have a tendency to underestimate people, Mr. Robinson.”

Mr. Robinson had an answer lying on his tongue, when he was rendered temporarily deaf by a shot ripping through the air nearby. By the time he had regained his senses, Miss Fisher was already running. Partly because old policeman's instinct kicked in, and most especially because he did not want to be outdone by a woman and particularly not this one, John chased after her.

 


	22. Spruce

John caught up, mostly due to Phryne having to overcome the hindrance of her heels while running and they arrived at exactly the same time. They weren't the first to get there though. Beside the body on the floor, Dorothy Williams was bent over, emptying the contents of her stomach into the bushes. Phryne had to swallow hard to resist the urge to join her. Jane was rubbing calming circles on her friend's back.   
“Bring her into the house,” Phryne commanded in a voice that didn't allow any argument. Jane stared at her with big eyes and nodded, avoiding the scene on the floor. While Phryne had a first look at the young woman lying on the grass, a still panting Mr. Butler reappeared from between the hedges.   
“I'm sorry, Miss, I lost him.”

“Did you get a good look?” Phryne asked, while crouching down.

“I'm afraid I didn't see much more than glimpses of a coat between the bushes.”

Miss Fisher hummed an answer, when Walter Cox-Stafford came running. His face was bright red from the unaccustomed exercise and looked deeply worried. When Mr. Butler stepped aside, revealing the body, he stopped cold.

“Miss Spencer? But...”

“But she died on Sunday,” Phryne finished his sentence. “I doubt it,” she continued, “this woman's heart was beating five minutes ago. She is still warm and the blood flow hasn't stopped yet.”

Phryne could barely hide her surprise, when a rather pale but eager former policeman crouched down on the other side of the body, picking up the corpse's hand.

“You're right, Miss Fisher. This woman has definitely not been for dead two days.”

He inspected the gaping hole in the victim's chest from which blood still seeped through the fabric of her dress.

“A single shot, close proximity, I'd say,” he stated thoughtfully.

“Phryne!” someone yelled over his voice, before they spotted a half dressed Inspector Robinson turning the corner, sprinting over the grass. He looked terrible Miss Fisher noted, her stomach giving a painful lurch. This was not only because Jack hadn't had time to tuck in his shirt or brush his hair. He looked ill, his skin was grey, his cheeks hollow. She pulled herself to her feet and walked towards him, spotting the relief that came over his face as he drew closer. Phryne forced herself to smile at him, while his anxious eyes darted from the body to her.

“What happened?” he panted, stopping in front of her. Phryne resisted the urge to wrap him in her arms and take him back to bed like a child suffering of the flu. Instead she glued a friendly grimace to her face.

“Miss Spencer reappeared. And then died yet again.”

Jack raised his eyebrows at this.

“You might have to explain this further, Miss Fisher.”

He stepped closer to the corpse, spotting his father there. Phryne held her breath, waiting for another confrontation, but currently both men seemed preoccupied with the body to their feet.   
“Sadly, I can't, Jack. We heard a shot and came running, and this is what we found.”

Inspector Robinson crouched down, paying no mind to either John or his own dishevelled state and had a closer look.

“But that is the same dress she wore the other day.”

“Maybe she wasn't dead, but kidnapped,” Walter threw in.

Jack dipped his head in consideration.

“A possibility. And then she got shot as she tried to escape back here?”

“She doesn't look like a woman who was held captive for days though,” Phryne pointed out. “Her hairdo was perfect before it was squished by the grass and her dress doesn't show a single crease.”

“There's no old blood either,” John said, realising that suddenly everybody was staring at him.

“You told us that the housekeeper remembered her dress being drenched in blood when she found what seemed to be her body. Yet all this blood here is fresh,” he explained his thoughts.

“Thank you, father, we will take it from here,” Jack answered coldly, without looking up.

John bit his lip, then pushed himself to his feet stiffly and walked back to the house without another word. Phryne forced herself to not watch the retreating figure. Instead she concentrated on the job at hand.

“Look at this, Jack.”

He did as he was asked and inspected the glittering object in the strawberry blonde curls.

“The hair brooch?”

They locked eyes, both knowing that the one they had found under the desk was still lying in a lockable drawer in the guest room.

“Probably not _the_ hair brooch, but a very similar one nonetheless,” Phryne stated, inspecting the light green dress for any signs of the missing triangle that was lying right beside the brooch upstairs.

“It's almost as if she was a ghost,” Uncle Walter said above them, shuddering in the warm morning light.

“There is only one small problem with that theory,” Jack pointed out dryly. “There is no such thing as ghosts.”

While Walter mumbled something under his breath, his nephew pulled himself upright, which took some effort as he still felt rather dizzy and shaken. He had been woken by the shot and never stopped to consider if he was in any state to get out of bed, his pounding head reminded him.

“But on the upside, at least we do have a body now,“ Phryne stated in fake enthusiasm, getting up as well. Jack was surveying the garden around them for some time, while parts of the family started to assemble around them, whispering between themselves, without disturbing the detectives more than necessary. They were filled in by a half shocked, half excited Walter into whatever the girls hadn't already shared.

“He was running in this direction, Sir,” Mr. Butler explained, who had been silent for most of the conversation. Jack nodded.

“That path leads to the South-West of the property and joins the street at the forest without ever revealing passers by to the eye of the public. Which leads to the conclusion that this was a well planned murder – by someone, who knows Wombat Hall.”

“Dear God,” Esmeralda gasped. “Are you implying it was one of us?”

Jack smiled wryly.

“Not exactly. Just that it was someone who has been here before.”

She visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

“It is still completely horrible,” she said, obviously upset but somewhat reconciled.

“Don't worry, my niece will help the Inspector find the murderer. They are very good at this,” Aunt Prudence comforted her and wrapped a motherly arm around the skinny woman, leading her back to the house. Many of the other's followed them. Jack whispered to Phryne a request to stay with the body till he had phoned the local police and found a coroner, when a voice broke the silence left behind by the retreating people.

“But... I thought she was dead already?”

It was Samuel, a shocked, shaken Samuel, who right now looked nothing like the golden boy he usually was. The things a murder did to people were always astounding, Phryne found.

“So did we,” she said gently. “Turns out, we were wrong.”

“But how could she have died on Sunday and now all over again? It's impossible.”

“Well that leaves only one conclusion then, doesn't it?” Jack said, growing tired of the same question.

“She is not real,” Sam whispered.

Inspector Robinson couldn't help rolling his eyes at his cousin.

“Samuel, please do me a favour and go back to the house, ring the police station and ask Sergeant Otterson to come out here as soon as he can.”

The young man obliged, turning towards the house, when Jack called after him.

“Oh and Sam, please don't tell him we have a ghost lying in the garden. He will die of laughter before he shows.”

His cousin nodded and retreated. DI Robinson sighed, rubbing his face with both hands.

“Sir, if you would like to leave, I am happy to stand guard,” Mr. Butler offered.

“Thank you, that won't be-”

“That would be very helpful, Mr. B,” Phryne said quickly, pulling her lover away from the corpse by his sleeve.

“What are you doing, Miss Fisher?”

“I'm sneaking you upstairs, before a fellow police officer sees you with your shirttail hanging out and morning stubble in your face,” she stated, without stopping or letting go of him. Jack blushed. He had completely forgotten about his fresh-out-of-bed look. He smiled, despite still feeling like he had been chewed up and spat out.

“Remind me, Miss Fisher, why I didn't marry you a decade ago?”

“Mostly, because you were already married. Of course there is also the small detail of you having been unaware of my existence, Inspector,” she smiled, while they snuck up the servant stairs.

He tilted his head at this, deciding her explanation was fair enough.

 

X

 

 

“I don't know how to put this,” Mac said, her face serious, when she removed her stethoscope from Dorothy William's chest. “But you are completely healthy.”

“I don't feel healthy though,” Dot observed, pressing her hand against her stomach.

“And you don't think that might have something to do with the body you just discovered?” Mac asked sarcastically, restoring her instruments in her bag.

Dot shook her head vehemently.

“I told you, I have been feeling off for at least a week. And I have been working with Miss Fisher for a while, I am used to bodies.”

“A fair point,” Elizabeth sighed, wondering what to do. “Look, if you feel really terrible, we can send you back to Melbourne for some tests-”

“Oh, tell her already, Doctor,” Prudence Stanley called from the back, where she was playing cards with Jane. Mac shot the older lady a look that could have killed her on the spot, then turned back to her patient, who appeared deeply worried now.

“Is it anything serious?” she asked, paling.

“Well yes,” Mac smiled. “Quite serious actually, if Mrs. Stanley is correct in her assumption. However, while some of your symptoms point in that direction, I cannot make a diagnosis without a proper-”

“Will you please stop babbling and tell me what is wrong with me?”

Mac couldn't help but grin.

“I think you are expecting a child, Dorothy.”

 

X

 

“So, what do you think happened, Jack?” Phryne asked her Inspector, as they wandered along the path their killer had presumably taken, looking for any pieces of evidence. After a wash and a shave he still looked terrible, but at least a groomed version of it.

“I honestly have no idea, Miss Fisher, but I can tell you what people out here will think happened,” he said, looking at a small patch of mud that showed enough shoe print to tell them that someone had been walking here, but no more. “They will make up something mythical.”

“A ghost story?” Miss Fisher smiled.

“Well, there is a dark story about Wombat hall,” Jack sighed, pulling himself upright. “Iris had a lot of fun telling it to all the children, when we were little. She loves horror stories.”

“Were there any hair brooches in it?” Phryne asked.

“Not that I know of. But there _was_ a young woman being murdered. According to legend, in 1862, shortly after the house was built, the first owner, a Mr. Tribalt stabbed his young wife when she was on her way to meet her lover. He never admitted to it, but was hanged all the same.”

“A charming anecdote,” Miss Fisher stated dryly. “It wasn't in the garden by any chance?”

“I don't believe so. But then I don't share my cousins love for those stories.”

For a little while they continued walking in silence, their eyes sweeping over the ground.

“Do you think, someone has re-enacted that legend?” Phryne asked.

“Possibly. But for what reason?”

“To send a message to an unfaithful spouse?”

“I'm pretty sure, most people settle for angry notes on the kitchen table and packed suitcases in the hall, Miss Fisher.”

“I wouldn't know, Inspector,” she answered, wondering for a moment, if he did. But as hard as she tried, she could not imagine Jack ever having cheated on Rosie.

“Once,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “And not in the way you think.”

“I am not thinking anything, Inspector,” Phryne smiled innocently. “But I am curious now.”

Jack sighed.

“When we lived in Abbottsford early in our marriage, we had a neighbour. A very nice lady, I think her name was Adelheid.”

Phryne repressed a giggle at her Inspector trying to wrap his tongue around the strange name. It was so cute, that she almost forgot what he was implying.

“She was Dutch I believe or Belgian, definitely European. Also very beautiful, with long blonde hair and a lovely accent.”

“Inspector, you're straying off track,” Phryne said pointedly, as a green-eyed monster reared its head somewhere in the depths of her stomach. Jack threw her a cheeky smile making her wonder if he was intentionally teasing her. She was glad to see though, that there was some colour returning to his face. Distraction seemed to be the magic word.

“Keep in mind that I was 22 and quite innocent,” he said, while he inspected a broken branch lying in the grass with some interest. “And in retrospect I might have made a few missteps.”

Phryne bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

“So you ravished her innocently, overwhelmed by her accent?”

He blushed.

“Nothing of the kind, Miss Fisher! But I might have gotten a bit carried away flirting. Since my experience was rather limited I might have also missed the subtle differences between a woman being friendly and a woman being _friendly_.”

They walked further, their eyes scanning the bushes and hedges. A cool breeze made the leaves flutter in the wind. It was indeed becoming autumn.

“So, what happened?” Phryne asked, when he showed no signs of continuing his story.

“She kissed me.”

Phryne almost laughed. That much build-up for a little kiss?

“And you defended your marriage in the harshest of manners, I assume?”

To her surprise, he cleared his throat.

“I was so shocked that I kissed her back. Just as Rosie walked through the door.”

Miss Fisher couldn't help herself. She burst into giggles.

“I'm sorry, Jack. The picture is too beautiful.”

“Well, Rosie didn't think so. Our row lasted a week, before I could convince her that I was not having an affair behind her back.”

Phryne really wanted to say something unfavourable about his former wife but the truth was that she could relate to her reaction perfectly. If she ever found Jack in the arms of another woman, all bets were off. God knew, she had almost lost her mind seeing him in innocent embraces before. It was strange and a little scary, being in love.

“So that was the only time you 'cheated' on your wife, Jack?” she asked, with some relief.

He nodded solemnly, but she couldn't help but prod a little further.

“Not the slightest little dirty affair?”

He gulped.

“I might have been tempted once or twice, Miss Fisher. But I never succumbed. I did not want to betray her trust and I don't take marriage lightly.”

Phryne nodded to herself. So exactly as she had suspected. As long as he stayed away from blonde Belgians, they should be perfectly fine.

“There's something,” Jack called, obviously relieved to change the subject. The muddy piece of paper was folded up tightly. The Inspector handed it to Phryne, who untangled it with gentle fingers.

“ _Don't worry, it is not true. I will explain later, just come as we discussed. And please do not tell a word to anyone. Trust me,_ ” she read aloud. “No signature.”

“So, someone lured Miss Spencer here. Someone she knew well,” Jack concluded, holding his nose into the wind as if it could tell him what had happened. They were close to the South-border of the Cox-Stafford's land now; the still not quite dried street glistened in the late morning light like a big grey snake. To their right, the trees of the forest rose up into the clear blue sky.

“But how did she get here? It is not exactly a short walk from anywhere really, in her clothes,” he pondered aloud. “And why would she come in the first place?”

“The letter implies that she was involved in some elaborate plan. And then her accomplice turned the tables on her.”

Jack pulled himself upright, followed by Miss Fisher.

“If we assume her first demise was staged, she must have been involved in it. Unknowingly paving the way for her own murder,” he concluded. “Maybe the killer thought he could get away with it if people thought, she was a ghost?”

“Seems a bit out there. But then, that never appears to stop people,” Miss Fisher pondered. To Jack's surprise, she walked towards the dark trees, rather than turning back.

“And why would she agree to stage her own murder?” she called out, while he followed her after a moment of hesitation.

“And to what purpose?” he asked, finding her crouching underneath a spruce, half-hidden by the lower branches. With a slight cry of triumph she pulled out a silver cigarette case.

“Our murderer was waiting here and left us a souvenir.”

Jack took the piece of evidence with a handkerchief, before helping his lover back to her feet.

“He even went to the trouble of engraving it with his initials,” he stated dryly. “J.B.”

“Seems a bit convenient,” Phryne said calmly. “But I do think, we should have a word with the Bartons.”

“Well, at least Mrs. Barton's sister is definitely dead this time,” Jack sighed, gently peeling a piece of spruce from Phryne's hair. She smiled.

“Unless she really is a ghost, Inspector.”


	23. Lemon Tree

Dot had been staring into the distance so long, that the doctor was starting to get worried.

“But...how?” the girl finally asked.

Mac rolled her eyes.

“I am sure, if you still don't know that, Miss Fisher has a mountain of educational reading material at hand,” she quipped, closing her bag.

Jane laughed at this, forgetting to play her card. Aunt Prudence looked rather unpleased with the idea of what her niece kept in her library.

“Get over it girl, we all had to get through this at some point,” she called out, then considered their company. “Well, maybe not all of us, but most. It's perfectly natural.”

Dorothy rubbed both hands over her face, and then suddenly a beaming smile spread over her face.

“I'm having a baby?”

“So it looks,” Mac concluded.

“I'm having a baby!” Dot said, half laughing, half crying, throwing herself around the doctors neck, rendering her stunned for a moment, before she squeezed back. While Aunt P shook her head in the background at the show of excitement, Jane stood to receive her own hug.

“I'm having a baby, Jane,” Dot whispered with tears in her eyes.

“So I heard,” Jane quipped, wrapping her arms around her friend tightly.

“I need to tell Hugh, I need to... call him... or better yet...”

The three other women watched on in amusement, as Mrs. Collins started to pace the room, making plans on how to best tell her husband the news.

 

X

 

When the detectives returned to the garden, Sergeant Otterson had arrived. He was a rather heavy-built man of middle age who was currently chatting animatedly with someone he knew from old times.

“I'm quite certain, I asked you to stay out of this,” Jack told his father, after briefly greeting his fellow officer.

“And I am quite certain I do not take orders from my son,” John answered him calmly.

“In this instance I am not your son and as far as I am aware, I outrank you as a police officer, even if I do not take into consideration your retirement. Please leave.”

John Robinson looked like his son had slapped him, but he stayed stubbornly glued to the spot, glaring at him. Miss Fisher felt it was time to intrude, before they strangled each other. She squeezed past Jack, making sure her hand brushed his in a comforting, calming gesture, without turning into an open show of affection in front of two people he would hate to see it and addressed the third policeman.

“Sergeant Otterson, I assume. So lovely to meet you. How are the ducks?”

“Ducks?” the man asked, obviously confused by the whole situation. “Oh, the ducks! They are perfectly fine, thank you, Miss...”

“Fisher.” They shook hands, ignoring the two Robinson's who were still involved in a staring match.

“I happen to be a private detective and was also one of the first to arrive at the body, so Inspector Robinson asked me for my help,” she fibbed, beaming. “In fact, I arrived with Mr. Robinson here, who is just as valuable a witness as me,” she continued more firmly, glancing at Jack. He took the hint and his features retreated from the war path.

“Can we get this scanned for prints?” the Inspector asked, handing the silver cigarette case to his fellow officer. “I will send the body down to Melbourne, even though I doubt the coroner will find anything unexpected.”

“With all due respect, Sir, Doctor Wesley is perfectly capable,” the Sergeant said stiffly. Jack looked at the older man, a country police officer, who had probably not seen much more than break-ins and brawls for most of his working life. He had a perfectly friendly, yet professional face and the Inspector realised that he had no right to insult him, just because he was acquainted with his father.

“Very well, I will put it into your hands to organise a post-mortem, Sergeant,” he decided after a moment of silence. “And also to take down the statement of the witnesses.”

Jack glanced at his father briefly.

“I will head over to Hepburn Springs to inform the next-of-kin and then come see you at the station to discuss further proceedings. Miss Fisher?”

Phryne threw a quick look at John Robinson, who looked deflated and gave him a tiny wink. She hoped, the elder man would understand the message.

 

X

 

Mr. Butler was busy packing his Mistresses's belongings into a small suitcase, when there was a knock to the door.

“Here you are”, Riya said smiling. “Maria said, you were packing to return to the Villa.”

“Miss Fisher doesn't want to intrude on the Cox-Stafford's privacy any longer than necessary,” Tobias Butler replied. “Not that I think, there is much privacy to be had in a family as big as theirs.”

“Most likely not,” Mrs. Santi sighed, sitting down and watching her lover fold a pair of pants with practised fingers.

“Tobias, I don't want to appear impatient, but the truth is that I am.”

The butler smiled at the open confession.

“I know that this is not easy for you to decide and that pressure will not help you. But I need to know.”

Mr. Butler took the step towards her, leaning over and to Riya's relief, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“I would be lying if I said I had come to a firm conclusion yet,” he admitted, returning to his work. “But the prospect of travelling with you seems very tempting indeed.”

“So you are coming?” Riya asked, holding her breath.

“At present, I am leaning strongly towards it,” he admitted, without looking up from his task. When he turned, he spotted tears of joy glittering in his lover's eyes. He couldn't stop himself from pulling her into an embrace and kissing her properly while completely forgetting his position.

 

X

 

 

“Samuel?”

“And Fred!” Phryne reminded her Inspector. She had taken the chance to brief him of all the events he had missed in his battle with John.

“It's hard to tell, who the letter was addressed to, but from their conversation Miss Spencer was either the author or knew who it was. We should be able to find examples of her hand in the office.”

Jack's hands gripped the steering wheel harder. The prospect of his family being involved in a murder did not sit well with him, despite the victim having been found in their garden.

“So you believe one of them had an affair with the deceased?” he asked, thinking of Laura.

“Or possibly both,” Miss Fisher pointed out.

“Damn,” the Inspector cursed to her surprise. “I did see Fred hide a letter yesterday. I should have asked about it.”

“Well at least Mac saw it happen and we could salvage some of the treasure,” Miss Fisher smiled, looking out the window. She spotted a familiar blonde head walking along the main road, beside a young woman, who was laughing.

“Is that your cousin over there?” she asked. Jack woke long enough from his dark musing about Laura's marriage to spot him too.

“Yes, that's Samuel. The lady is Christine Alister, daughter of a farmer Uncle Walter is doing business with. I hope she is smart enough to not be taken in by him.”

“Who says, she isn't?” Phryne asked, her eyes still glued to the young couple.

“Christine is one of the few women to ever resist my cousin. He doesn't appreciate it,” Jack laughed, turning around a corner and rendering the young people out of sight.

Miss Fisher was still pondering this, when they turned into the courtyard of the Barton's winery. Miss Rucci was working outside, re-potting a small lemon tree, when they approached.

“Good morning, Inspector, Miss,” she wiped a strand of hair out of her forehead with a muddy hand.

“I'm sorry, but you are unlucky again. Mrs. Barton is not home. Some business appointment.”

“We are also looking for her husband,” the Inspector said.

The elderly woman pulled herself to her feet. “I fear, Mr. Barton is still in Sydney. He is not due to return till tomorrow morning.”

The detectives locked eyes.

“I would like some details as to his business there, Miss Rucci.”

She looked confused for a moment, but desperate to help them.

“I'm afraid, I don't know much about his appointments there, but according to Abigail he stayed behind to speak to Lord and Lady Gregories. She said, he was hoping to be invited to a hunt and make business acquaintances this way.”

“And she returned without her husband?” Phryne asked.

“As I mentioned, she had an important appointment this morning. At Wombat Hall, I believe.”

She looked in astonishment at the two detectives, who stared at her with their jaws dropped.

“Miss Rucci, do the sisters have a resemblance at all?” Jack enquired after a long moment of speechless silence. She looked at him in confusion before answering.

“Of course, they do! They are twins.”

 

X

 

With some anger, Mr. Robinson threw his hat onto his guest bed and sank onto a chair. He just couldn't get in. He was trying, but Jack was just spitting in his face. Outrank him. The little brat! The sober part of him reminded him that his son was right. Jack would have outranked him in a murder investigation, even if John had been an active police officer. His heart was fluttering uncomfortable in his chest and the man pulled a jug of water towards him, noting as he did, the sound of crumpling paper underneath where he sat. John pulled the creased envelope from his seat with some effort. He had completely forgotten about this. But then surely he could not be asked to remember everything, when there was a murder happening right under his nose and his son treating him like a leper. He would not let Jack get away with just kicking him out of the investigation. John Robinson poured himself a glass of water, slapping down the envelope covered in a woman's hand writing with some vigour. No, he would help his son, if he wanted him to or not.

 

X

 

“That's Abigail,” the old lady said calmly, but the tone of her voice gave her grief away. Nodding, the Inspector pulled the sheet back over the pale face.

“Are you sure?” Miss Fisher asked.

“I can tell my girls apart,” Miss Rucci insisted, “and this is Abigail.”

“Thank you, Ma'am.”

Jack brought the woman to the door of the police station and sent a Constable to drive the lady home. Then he returned to Miss Fisher, who had found herself a chair and was currently chewing on her lip.

“It looks like we were holding the wrong end of the stick, Inspector,” she pointed out, throwingthe files of a poor police officer's desk into chaos. He nodded, sitting down on the edge of the table.

“It appears at the moment, like both sisters were murdered. In the same dress, on the grounds of Wombat Hall.”

“Obviously someone is trying to make a point,” Phryne pondered.

“He could have made it a little clearer,” Jack sighed. “And we are still missing Miss Spencer's body.”

Sergeant Otterson entered the room.

“Sir, I have just gotten off the phone with Sydney and there is indeed a Lord Gregories listed in their phone register. I have brought you the details, I assumed you wanted to do this yourself.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. Have we got any results on the cigarette case yet?”

“No prints, Sir. Not a single one.”

Jack sighed and the officer retreated.

“So the case was planted,” he stated, when the door has closed. “It seems unlikely that someone would accidentally lose something that he has taken the trouble to remove the prints from.”

“So it would seem,” Phryne said calmly, taking the card from his fingers. Jack watched her as she picked up the phone and got a connection established.

“This is Miss Phryne Fisher speaking. Yes, I would like to speak to the Lady of the house. Of course, I'll wait.”

Jack rolled his eyes, while she looked at him smiling mischievously.

“Yes, hello Chloe, Phryne Fisher here. Yes, something very curious has occurred today. You're name came up a murder investigation and I just had to call. Yes, I will tell you the details later, but please just answer me one question first. Is a Mr. Joseph Barton your guest at this time? Yes, a terrible thing actually, but I assume, the local police will take care of telling him. They usually don't like me interfering into their business.”

She glanced up at the Inspector with a cheeky smirk on her lips.

“Not that it stops me,” she laughed. “Yes, listen Chloe, I do have to go. Thank you for your help.”

She rang off.

“Our husband is indeed in Sydney.”

Jack had crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a half smile.

“You could have mentioned, your friendship with Lady Gregories.”

“Didn't I? Oh, I'm so sorry, Jack,” she stated in a voice that told him clearly that she wasn't in the slightest and continued. “Anyway, we are merely acquainted. The Gregories have a second estate near Melbourne and it is rather hard to avoid each other at _every_ party. I actually did participate in the annual hunt last year that Mr. Barton seems so desperate to join.”

“You went to a hunt, Miss Fisher?”

The Inspector's eyebrows rose.

“I did. And no, I did not shoot anything – or anyone for that matter,” Phryne smiled, getting to her feet. “Rather boring business actually, but you will find out soon enough.”

She reached out to fix his tie that had a slight nick in the wrong place. Jack stared at her.

“We are invited, Jack. And as my husband, you will have to join and pretend to enjoy yourself.”

The Inspector gulped.

“You are kidding?”

A broad smile snuck around her lips upon seeing the distraught expression on his face.

“Yes, I am. I hate hunts and I have no intention of ever joining this one again.”

He sighed a breath of relief, but her hands lingered on his tie and her voice became serious.

“But Jack, we can't avoid all and every social occasion.”

He grabbed her hand, holding it between his.

“Phryne, when you take me as your husband I will live up to all expectations,” he promised, his dark eyes sincere. “I will even suffer your parties,” he smiled on afterthought.

“And my money?” she asked, using his tie to pull him towards her.

“For richer and for poorer,” he whispered enthralled in her glittering eyes.

“You know, whoever came up with this probably did not anticipate the richer part to be the issue,” Phryne's red lips replied from close proximity. Jack could feel her breath ghost over his cheek, as his eyes fell shut, his heart pounding. The sound of someone clearing their throat sobered him. He turned to see his father stand in the door frame.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but I came to make my statement,” he said. “And see if I can be of any help.”

Jack opened his mouth to say something cutting, when Miss Fisher cut him off.

“That is very helpful of you. Please take a seat and I'll fill you in.”

Wordlessly Jack stared at his fiancée, wondering what had happened that had changed the relationship between her and his father so much. He felt left out, when he watched her babble on about the case. By rights, he knew he should have stopped her. It was enough of a stretch to let her get involved in the investigation. His father was as much of a civilian as Phryne. But there was actually something strangely touching about seeing them talk, he realised. It was something he deep down wished so much for that it hurt.

John Robinson seemed to have forgotten his hatred for his future daughter-in-law and Phryne was openly friendly to the old man. Maybe it was just a mask, something that occurred in the spur of the moment, but he ached for his father to accept the woman by his side, it occured to him in sudden livid clarity. Jack felt his throat tighten and tears pricking at the back of his eyes. This was something he had not expected, fake or real. His tie was suddenly suffocating him.

“Excuse me. I will be back in a minute.”

He couldn't leave fast enough and missed two worried pairs of eyes following him.

“Too much?” John asked, after a pause. Phryne shook her head.

“I think, you are doing just fine.”

“You know, Miss Fisher, I hate the idea of you being responsible for my reconciliation with Jack. If he comes around, that is.”

“He will. And you will be eternally in my debt,” she smirked. John sighed, rubbing his face with both hands.

“I doubt that I have anything that you couldn't buy yourself, Miss Fisher.”

She tore her eyes from the door, that Jack had vanished through to look at him.

“You have a son,” she said calmly. “Now, let's talk about the case.”

The son in question was standing outside, leaning in the shadow of an alleyway and wiping the tears from his eyes. He wasn't even sure, why he was crying, but the sight of Phryne and John together had stirred up some almost forgotten feelings deep inside of him.

The Inspector caught a glimpse of a familiar man wander by, who he recognised as his Uncle making a belated visit to the newspaper agent. Trying to hide, Jack ducked deeper into the alley. The murder in his garden had probably spoilt Walter's appetite for the morning paper but old habits die hard.

Walter stopped suddenly, looking at a man who was wandering past him in the other direction. Jack was already running before his head had caught up.

“You little bastard, how could you do this?” he heard his Uncle's voice boom, as he grabbed Charles Crossley by the neck, even though the man was half a head taller than him. Crossley was too surprised to react, but Jack feared for his Uncle when his employee regained his bearings. Walter wasn't 20 anymore, even though rage might make him strong.

“That's enough!” the Inspector yelled, when Uncle Walter lifted his fist, arriving just in time to rip the two men apart. “Enough,” he panted, althought neither man made any effort to escape his grasp.

“Mr. Crossley, if you accompany me to the station, we can talk about it there. I will see you tonight, Uncle Walter!” he stated firmly, pulling his suspect with himself and throwing a stern look backwards. Angry muttering followed them for a few feet, but then Walter Cox-Stafford turned and entered the news agency. There was little that could keep him from getting his paper.

 


	24. Camomile

Two pairs of eyes looked up, when the men walked into the station. Jack couldn't disguise his surprise at seeing Phryne and his father bent harmoniously over the letter. It was still shocking and unreal, he found, wondering if he might wake up any minute.

The Inspector shook himself out of it and slipped behind an empty desk, that he dimly remembered to belong to the Sergeant and gestured Charles Crossley to sit. The man obliged only hesitantly.

“I don't know what came over Mr. Cox-Stafford,” he stammered, before Jack could ask a question. “He just attacked me.”

“Possibly the fact that you have been stealing from him?” Miss Fisher said, stepping beside the desk.

The suspect jumped to his feet. “Who says such a thing?”

“Sit down, please,” Inspector Robinson commanded calmly. Crossley's eye darted from him to Miss Fisher. Then he fell back onto the hard wooden chair. Jack picked up a pencil, from the corner of his eye watching Phryne sit down at the edge of the table while John stayed in the background and silent. Jack took a deep breath, trying to forget his father's presence. He wasn't a son right now, he was Detective-Inspector Robinson questioning a murder suspect.

“Mr. Crossley, we have found some forged numbers in the accounts of Mr. Cox-Stafford's business. Do you know anything about this?”

“Of course not!”

Jack Robinson found himself being scrutinised by a stare he knew all too well. Bad liars had the tendency to lock their eyes with you, hoping to be considered honest. He smiled.

“I don't believe you, Mr. Crossley.”

The man turned an angry shade of red, looking for any help, but found only Miss Fisher who smiled dangerously.

“You are a terrible liar, I must say.”

Crossley visibly deflated and lifted his hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright. I manipulated some bills, nothing major, just a few pounds here and there. I didn't think the Cox-Stafford's would miss them.”

“And it didn't occur to you, that it might still be wrong?” Jack asked coldly.

“My wife and I have had trouble making ends meet, since we sent our boy away to boarding school,” Crossley admitted quietly.

“Miss Spencer found out, didn't she?”

The man wrung his hands in front of his chest in a desperate gesture, that was almost comical.

“She threatened to tell the Cox-Stafford's.”

“So you killed her?” the Inspector asked, dropping his pen.

“What? No!” Crossley cried, outraged.

Searching for help again, he looked up to both detectives in turn, neither of whom seemed inclined to believe him.

“I will admit that I wasn't happy. We argued. But she did not go through with telling him, so I just dropped the subject.”

“A very likely story, Mr. Crossley,” Miss Fisher stated sarcastically.

“You can go,” Jack said, to her surprise. Stiffly, the man stood, taking his leave, when the Inspector called him back. “One second please. Would you please remove your shoe for me.”

Charles Crossley stared at him in confusion, then bent down to take off his leather shoe and handed it over. Jack's nose wrinkled in disgust as he accepted the piece of leather and sniffed briefly, before sticking his hand inside.

“Thank you.”

He handed the shoe back, half-consciously wiping his hand onto his pants leg.

“I am quite sure that we will talk again, Mr. Crossley but for now you are free to go.”

Grateful for the temporary reprieve, the man fled before the Inspector could come up with any other strange requests.

Silence settled over the office, while Jack returned behind his desk.

“So, what was that all about?” John asked. His son's head flew up. He had been so successful in blocking his father's presence out that he was now shocked to discover him still there.

“You were thinking of the shadow in the storm, weren't you?” Phryne asked quietly.

“His shoes are still wet,” Jack explained to no one in particular. “So he was probably the mystery man, Mac spotted. I would assume trying to get rid of evidence of his fraud. But I don't think he is our killer. He was sincerely shocked at Miss Spencer's death and scrambled to hide his tracks. If he had planned her demise he would surely have removed the evidence beforehand.”

“He also doesn't have any reason to kill both sisters and stage it as some strange form of mystery,” Phryne concluded.

“That's all great,” John threw in. “But who _did_ kill this Miss Spencer and her sister?”

“We will let you know, as soon as we found out,” Jack said, pulling himself to his feet. “Good day, father.” And with that, he walked out the door into the now bright sunshine of the afternoon. Phryne threw her future father-in-law a quick glance, almost feeling sorry for the old man who was visibly deflated by Jack's coldness. She flashed him an encouraging smile, before hurrying after her fiancé. Stubbornness truly ran in the family.

 

X

 

“Dear God,” Fred Simmens-Cox-Stafford sighed, rubbing his palms over his face. When he looked up, a tumbler of Whisky had appeared in his view, held by a friendly hand. He accepted it after a second of hesitation. Alcohol in the early afternoon did seem a little over the top, but then a murder probably warranted such measures.

“Did you know her well?” Rupert Walker asked, sitting down in another armchair. Fred flinched almost invisibly.

“No, not well at all. She had only been here for a few months I believe and we just saw her on the occasional visit.”

Rupert noticed the beads of sweat glittering on Fred's forehead, but didn't comment. Instead he took a sip from his own tumbler.

“Tragic, such a young life,” he stated calmly. “And so brutal too.”

Fred hummed agreement, without looking up from blindly staring at the Persian covering the floor of the library.

“I wonder though, what this first so-called murder was all about. Clearly, she didn't die, but it looked very much like it. And now she reappears, just to die again?”

“I am quite certain, she is dead now.” Rupert pointed out, a half-smile on his lips. “Lucky that we had not one but two detectives in the house, they will figure it out.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Fred mumbled, pouring the amber liquid down his throat, without much ceremony. He was sweating profusely now and Rupert wondered briefly, if there were more secrets hidden in his wife's family, than he had ever given them credit for.

 

X

 

Miss Fisher had her eyes closed while falling into the smell of lavender. The villa was blessedly silent, with only her and Jack present; the rest of the cavalry obviously still hadn't left Wombat hall. She could not pretend to mind this in the slightest. While she was busy letting her muscles melt into the warmth of the water, she listened in her personal darkness to the quiet shuffle of Jack entering the bathroom and taking his shoes off. Phryne smiled to herself, hoping he would join her in the tub.

“What is going on between you and father?”

She opened her eyes to look at him. His voice was hard to read and so was his face. Phryne swallowed dryly.

“What do you mean?” she asked, smiling nonchalantly and let her eyes close again. Despite her calm exterior, her heart sped up.

“Drop it, Phryne,” she heard him say from close proximity, while she felt him sit down at the edge of the tub. She could keep herself barely from flinching. “Yesterday he flew of the handle, as only my father can, and today he is as gentle as a lamb. Someone has twisted his arm and assume it was you?”

Miss Fisher forced herself to pry open her eyes and look at him. She was scared of what she might see, she found. Maybe she had gone too far. Jack's face was serious, but he didn't look like he was about to strangle her. Instead he picked up the sponge and dipped it into the water, ran it gently over her shoulder. Phryne couldn't tear her eyes from his face, while he was busy washing her.

“I just couldn't watch him hurting you any more,” she finally explained.

He nodded slightly, without stopping in his task. Phryne held her breath, while he sponged down her chest, tenderly and determined with gentle, strong hands that she never grew tired of looking at.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. Miss Fisher didn't answer. There were no words that would have done her heart justice.

Instead she reached out her hand, framing his face with her wet palm.

“I am to be your wife,” she smiled. “And nobody gets away with hurting my husband.”

Jack laid his hand over hers, wrapping their fingers together.

“You are a dangerous woman to be around, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne grinned mischieveously.

“And don't you forget it, Inspector Robinson.”

With that, she slung her second dripping hand around Jack's arm, tipping his balance and with a splash, the policeman landed in the bathtub, spilling lavender infused water over the bathroom floor. When he resurfaced spluttering, his soaked three-piece clinging to his skin, he looked briefly like he _was_ going to strangle her after all. But then he burst into laughter.

“God, I am really going to marry you.”

“So it seems, Jack.”

Phryne leaned back into the water, grinning self-satisfied at him. He ran a hand over the back of her foot, that was floating dangerously close to his hip.

“I think I might have to buy myself a swimsuit then,” he teased, while his hand dipped under the surface. Miss Fisher chose not to protest his intention.

 

X

 

Much cleaner and happier Miss Fisher sat down an hour later in the living room of her temporary domicile to read the Agatha Christie novel she had brought. Part of her was sad that she had nobody to read it to, but Jack had preferred to go for a walk along the lake, hoping to clear the lingering headache completely. When someone knocked politely onto the open door, she looked up from the current cyanide poisoning, to see her butler standing on the threshold.

“Mr. Butler. I didn't hear you coming. Did the others return yet?” she asked.

“No, Miss. They are having lunch with the Inspector's family. I decided to leave early because I would like to speak to you in private, if I may.”

Phryne closed her book and gestured him to sit. Something about the tension displayed on his face made her sit upright in anxious anticipation. Tobias Butler didn't ask for a private word unless there was something serious to be discussed. Her suspicion was confirmed, when he sat down, but stared past her, as if having to sort his thoughts first.

“Miss Fisher, this is not an easy decision for me, I have to assure you, but Mrs. Santi has made me an offer I am very tempted to accept. But it would also mean great changes to my life and therefore...” he trailed off looking at his hands while Phryne stared at him in shock. “I feel you have a right to know, Miss, that I am considering leavingyour service and travelling to India.”

Phryne racked her brain for a reaction. Surely he could not be serious? Her house in St. Kilda without the calming presence of Mr. Butler was unthinkable. And yet, they had all moved on, hadn't they? Jane was becoming a young woman fast, Dot had married her Hugh, surely hoping to start a family and she herself would be married soon too. What right did she have to deny Mr. Butler a piece of happiness? She plastered a smile to her face.

“I am happy for you, Mr. Butler. Even though you will be sorely missed.”

There seemed to be a shadow of disappointment on his features that passed, before she had a chance to ensure that she wasn't imagining it.

“Though I have to admit,” she added on afterthought, “that I didn't realise things between you and my friend were moving quite this fast.” Actually, I did think you're relationship was a little on the rocks on my last account, she finished silently in her head. Mr. Butler gave her a tiny smile.

“Neither was I, Miss Fisher. But as things stand-”

Loud, happy chattering from the hallway interrupted him in his explanation, when the rest of the party arrived.

“Miss?!” Dot called out, storming into the parlour a mere second later. Phryne didn't have time to recover from her last shock, before her maid flung herself around her neck.

“I'm having a child!”

“We have not absolutely confirmed that yet,” Mac tried some reason from the door, which was completely ignored. For the second time in a matter of minutes Miss Fisher attempted to smile at something that confused her.

“That's wonderful, Dot. Have you told Hugh yet?”

“No, I need to get back to Melbourne. I can't tell him on the phone. Miss, would you mind terribly, if I leave early. I just have to tell him in person!”

“That won't be necessary,” Inspector Robinson's voice sounded from the French door he had just stepped through. “I have just rung the Constable from the police station and requested his presence up here, after he has found some background information for us.”

He locked eyes with Phryne and nodded slightly. So he had asked Collins to find out more about his family members, despite his own doubts of their involvement. Miss Fisher knew that this couldn't have been easy for him.

“He should be here by lunchtime tomorrow,” he smiled. With an uncharacteristic scream of joy, Dot flung herself around the neck of Mr. Butler. Over her shoulder the servant locked eyes with his Mistress. Both noticed that the other looked a little overwhelmed.

 


	25. Daisy

The afternoon went by with an excited Dot considering and then dismissing names; anecdotes of small children being shared; and Prudence reminding the mother-to-be of the responsibilities in raising an infant into a proper adult. Phryne watched on in amusement, while her thoughts trailed off. The idea of Dot soon being the mother of a screaming little human was a bit much on her - but that wasn't on the forefront of her mind. She couldn't help but notice that several people in the room had gone quiet over the course of the conversation. There was Mr. Butler, who sat deep in thought, listening attentively to every word that was uttered. Mac, while being rather enthusiastic about the whole thing, had a slightly glazed look in her eyes that made Miss Fisher wonder for the first time, how her friend dealt with being unable to have children of her own. But what unsettled her the most, was that Jack had retreated to the far end of the sofa and threw the occasional smart reply in without any real sincerity, while he was going through some inner dialogue or other. She couldn't help but wonder, if he was currently busy with his father, the murder or something else altogether. The picture of him and Lizzy under the pear trees appeared unasked for, in front of her eyes. If he wished that he could have what Hugh was having? A woman who was excited at the prospect of bearing his child instead of frightened? Her throat closed over at the thought and she excused herself to get changed for dinner in a hurry. Nobody took much notice of her absence but one pair of eyes that followed her up the stairs. Jane shook her head to herself. Adults really were rather daft sometimes.

Miss Fisher might have been surprised by the fact that Jack was currently pondering neither the absence of children in his life nor the presence of his father. Something else had occurred to him, something that he wasn't ready to share just yet. It was a rather blunt idea, but then again, blunt ideas seemed to have done him a world of good in the past year. The idea twisted in his head, shaping itself into a form and he couldn't help but smile to himself.

 

X

 

“So, when is the wedding?” Walter asked between chewing on a dry piece of plywood that pretended to be a duck. He hadn't managed to talk his wife out of taking the cooking from Maria's capable hands tonight. Miss Fisher had to pour half a glass of wine down her throat in an effort to clear her mouth, before answering. 

“I'm afraid we haven't set a date yet.”

“It is not like we are in any hurry,” Jack cut in, glancing at his father and waiting for a snide remark. But the older man just ate without participating in the conversation. What the Inspector didn't say was, that he didn't want to put Phryne under any sort of pressure. It had taken some effort to convince her to get married at all and he knew that she didn't like being forced into anything - let alone a lifetime commitment that she wasn't particularly fond of to start with.

“Actually,” Phryne added to his surprise, “I must admit, I was waiting on Jane to return from her trip through Europe. Marrying without our daughter did not seem quite right.”

She shared a smile with her ward over the table. This had a strange effect on John Robinson. He looked up from his food, measuring his future daughter-in-law with curious eyes.

“Well, please let us know as soon as possible,” Esmeralda pushed in smiling. “We will need to make some arrangements. Sadly, spontaneous trips are out of the question.”

Jack almost choked on his food. He could not remember Esmeralda and Walter ever having left Wombat Hall in over a decade. They were thoroughly bound to Daylesford, which forced their family to travel up and suffer the beautiful scenery and  the  Cox-Stafford's hospitality, whenever the chance arose. 

“You want to attend our wedding?” he asked, unable to hide his surprise. The spouses shared a look.

“Of course!” they said at the same time, which should have sounded harmonious, but was so dissonant that it had a rather humorous effect.

“Wouldn't miss it for the world, boy,” Walter added with a smile.

“Unless there happens to be a hailstorm,” Rupert threw in grinning, remembering that his own wedding with Iris had shown two empty chairs, caused by this particular occurrence. An elbow in his ribs from his beloved wife was the only answer he received.

“Do you have any thoughts on the ceremony yet?” Olivia enquired.

“Should be rather hard to talk a priest into it,” Hazel threw in, earning herself a piercing stare from her mother. “They tend to be rather annoying in regards of marrying divorcees.”

“There's way's around that,” Walter laughed. “Our Father Bailey could probably be convinced with a keg of wine and a nice dinner. Not cooked by you, my dear.”

He kissed his wife on the cheek, who didn't have the heart to be annoyed.

“We actually exchanged our vows here in Daylesford,” Fred joined in to everybody's surprise. “It has a beautiful little church.”

“More than one actually,” his wife interrupted him in his enthusiasm.

“There are also beautiful churches in Melbourne though,” Dot's voice sounded.

“To be honest, I don't want to get married in a church.”

Everybody fell silent, staring at Jack, who blushed and cleared his throat, wondering why he had blurted it out in front of everybody, instead of talking to Phryne quietly as he had intended.

“I have gotten married in a church once,” he stated calmly, fixing his eyes on his father intent to defy him if he should so much as open his mouth to pick at the wound his divorce had left. “I do not wish to repeat history in any shape or form.”

Phryne felt an apologetic hand wrapping around her fingers under the table. She understood. This was their wedding and neither of them was really at home in a church. And she definitely had no intention of repeating any part of his marriage with Rosie either. Loud chatter mixed around the table, discussing the options of a wedding outside a church. It seemed an outrageous idea. Phryne smiled briefly at Jack and found that John was still looking at her with intense eyes that currently reminded her very much of his sons, instead of the steel that had greeted her the last few days. There had a certain warmth appeared in them, that she had never seen before. She felt confused. Surely discussing the wedding should draw his hatred onto her, considering his reaction to their engagement. Yet, there was something almost akin to happiness in his features, a quiet satisfaction. It suddenly occurred to Phryne that he might have been scared she wouldn't go through with it. This conclusion shed a new light onto their conversations. His questions about what she saw in his son hadn't been about degrading Jack at all, but about trying to figure out how much he truly meant to her. Jack's father might be a grumpy old man with a terribly awkward way of showing his love. But something told Phryne, that Anna Robinson wouldn't have defied her parents to marry someone, who didn't have a heart beating in his chest.

Phryne glanced at Jack. He really had no idea how deeply his father cared, did he? He had been blind sided by his own hurt and guilt and all he could see was John lashing out at him at any given chance. Her fingers found his knee under the tablecloths. Reassuring warmth crept through the fabric of his trousers and for a moment she noted his eyes dart to her in question. He was wondering, why she was touching his leg and while it had been only a gesture of comfort and connection a second ago, Phryne couldn't stop her thoughts from wandering in other directions now.

She resurfaced from her idea to realise, that the conversation had turned towards the murder. Wendy looked slightly uneasy, considering her little daughter was sitting wedged between her grandfather and Jane, eating in unusual silence.

“I believe it wasn't actually your assistant, Walter. Miss Fisher told me it turned out to be the next-of-kin they were trying to inform. Twins apparently, which solves the mystery of how your Miss Spencer could have died twice.”

The Master of the house gaped at Phryne for a moment. It was uncertain if he was more confused about the revelation or her sharing such information with John Robinson of all people. Miss Fisher smiled sweetly.

“Your brother-in-law is right. The body in the garden was Miss Spencer's sister, a Mrs. Abigail Barton.”

Heads turned to John Robinson, who had just raised a glass of wine to his lips and was now coughing loudly. His face had turned bright red and to everybody's amusement, Lizzy slapped his back with her little hand in an effort to help.

“Are you all right, Gramps?” she asked, when he had regained his breath.

“Perfectly fine, love,” he answered hoarsely. “My drink just went down the wrong way.” 

Chatter picked up again, while John and his granddaughter whispered about the secrets of swallowing correctly. The former policeman was too enthralled in the conversation and his thoughts to notice that both his sons were watching them with fond eyes.

Jack wasn't sure what to feel. His father was acting strangely, which mostly meant that he was currently not insulting anyone, including himself and Miss Fisher. Was it at all possible that Phryne's charm had cracked his spiky shell? His eyes found Jane, who had joined into the debate between grandfather and cousin about the virtues of chewing with your mouth closed. Or was _she_ the magical key to John Robinson's heart? Phryne had shared her observations on the relationship the girl had struck with the old man earlier and Jack couldn't help but be worried. He knew that Jane was able to take care of herself; she had been through many things in her still young life. But he would not allow his father to add to the pain she had endured. The Inspector knew too well just how deeply John Robinson's words could cut. His father, however, looked at present nothing like the old angry man Jack had encountered frequently over the last years. He was chatting along with both his granddaughters, smiling and joking. Jack's heart ached. He remembered this man from before the war. Truth be told, they had never had a harmonious relationship; they were both too stubborn and maybe too different - or too alike. But he did remember his father sitting at the edge of his bed, telling him stories of how he had chased robbers over the rooftops or how he had saved a mother and her children. He and Will had enjoyed the rare evenings when their father had been home early telling them of his job rather than their mother reading their bedtime story. Jack also remembered why he had at the tender age of 12 decided to become a policeman. Because he had always wanted to be a hero, fighting for justice. Just like his Dad.

Of course, reality was different. The world wasn't black and white; there wasn't just police and gangsters. There were victims who he felt deserved their fate; and killers who he thought, didn't; there were times where he came too late; and moments where all battling couldn't bring the right people to justice. There was simply days where he just wanted to curl up into a ball and forget what he had seen. A bit like the War, which still was mostly a blur of pain and guilt and things he'd rather not remember. And then there was Phryne. Phryne and her colourful house; her good Whiskey; her clever words; her white, warm arms. Her presence was always somewhere between an intoxicating drug and a soothing ointment. It didn't matter if she calmed his heart rate right down or caused it to speed up - like the fingers that were currently trailing up the inside of his thigh in a lazy gesture, sending a wave of heat through his limbs. She had turned into the counterweight to his pain. Which was somewhat ironic, considering that she had been a source of a whole lot of bitter-sweet agony along the way. And she had every intention to cause some right now, he noticed, squirming in his seat as her hand wandered higher, thankfully disguised by the tablecloths. Jack could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He resisted the urge to grasp her fingers and remove them forcefully from his fast reaction body. This was not the time or the place, especially not while there were his collected family sitting around this very table and the dinner was drawing to an end. He barely suppressed a telling moan, when her hand brushed over the fabric between his legs. Dear God!

With nimble fingers he arranged his tie, battling the heat and trying to follow a piece of conversation that was floating between his two aunts. He had no idea what they were talking about but anything was better than concentrating on the touch of Miss Fisher.

“Let me,” he heard her say in the sweetest of voices and there her fingers were, resurfaced from their immoral behaviour underneath the table to arrange his tie like a virtuous fiancée. She really was a great liar. Jack Robinson was currently not certain if to jump or strangle her. He battled down both urges and let her fix his clothes, looking at her sternly. Of course she knew what she was doing to him. Even the common knotting of his tie was generally a seductive task in Miss Fisher's world and her finger's slipped easily and sultry over the silk.

“There,” she finally said, satisfied with herself.

“Thank you,” he smiled, taking her hand and kissing it. What nobody else at the table saw, was the light nip at her finger that caused a sharp intake of breath in Miss Fisher. Jack watched her pupils dilate with some satisfaction. This was a game two people could play after all.

 

X

 

Mr. Butler was against his Mistress's wishes tidying the sitting room, when he heard the knock. This day definitely called for some calming habits, like beating sofa cushions into shape. He wasn't surprised at Riya Santi standing in the door, surrounded by a floating piece in the colour of red wine.

“Would you care for a walk?” she asked, instead of a greeting. “There is a beautiful sunset over the lake.”

“Of course, I will just be one minute.”

Exactly one minute later, they followed the small path rounding the house, Riya hanging on Tobias' arm and his heart ached at the idea that this could be his life. The sunset was indeed breathtaking and they stood still for a moment, taking in the view.

“Don't you have a desire to paint this?” Mr. Butler asked his lover. She smiled.

“That is unnecessary. I promise, I will not forget this moment; it is engraved in my mind. And if I feel like painting it, I will. Maybe tomorrow or in five years time.”

Mr. Butler was utterly silent. She glanced at him from the side. The expression on his face worried her.

“Believe it or not, Tobias, but in India I find the sunsets are even more colourful. Or maybe they are just reflected in all the colours of the land. You will love it.”

She knew she was babbling. She also knew already what he would say, when he opened his mouth.

“Riya, I am afraid, I cannot join you.”

Despite this knowledge, her heart missed a beat.

“You have to stay, don't you?” she asked tonelessly, staring out over the lake.

“Dorothy is expecting a child,” he said, as if that was to explain everything.

It did.

His hand grabbed hers, holding on to something he could no keep. Tears glittered in both their eyes, while they watched the sun set in silence. When the sky turned dark, Mrs. Santi untangled her fingers from her lover's.

“Goodbye then,” she said quietly.

“Why don't you stay? I find there is no point in wasting perfectly good time.”

Mr. Butler tried himself on a smile that didn't work out.

“You aren't due to leave for another two weeks.”

He looked at her, but Riya shook her head quietly, running her palm over his cheek.

“I'm sorry, Tobias. I was being a fool.”

“So was I,” he stated, his voice rough. “And I loved being a fool with you.”

A tear trickled out of the corner of her eye, while she smiled at him sadly and brushed a last kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered, before vanishing into the night.

 

X

 

Jane found herself in a confusing situation: a games night with a family. _Her_ family nevertheless. While Miss Fisher's household was filled with more or less regular guests and family members that had made her feel wanted and welcome from the first day - which had been a rather odd occurrence in her life - they were not really bound together in any sort of classic family lifestyle. Which meant, charade and card-games were not really on their daily agenda as much as puzzling together clues and faking identities. Yet, here they were in the middle of a classic family evening.

Mac and Hazel had retreated into a corner to battle their intellects in a game of chess, with the Doctor seemingly having the upper hand at present, if only by one pawn. Aunt Prudence had joined Esmeralda, Olivia and Laura in a card-game of some description and Uncle Walter was currently pretending to be a cow... or possible a deer, it was really hard to say.

Samuel was reading in a corner. Despite still apparently pouting, even he couldn't withdraw completely from this. And John Robinson actually sat between Iris and Fred and yelled out assumptions. It was really awkward, what this game did to people, Jane thought, glancing at Jack, who looked relaxed and happier than she had seen him in days.

Lizzy literally fell off the couch laughing, when her Great-Uncle revealed that he had been a dog the whole time.

“I think it is about time for bed,” Wendy said with a gentle smile, while she picked her daughter from the floor.

“Nooooo,” the girl protested, “I'm not tired yet.”

A stifled yawn called her a liar, but nevertheless she struggled free from her mothers gentle grasp and threw herself at her Uncle.

“Uncle Jack, Mummy wants me to go to bed. I don't want to go yet. Pleaaasse.”

The Inspector's smiling eyes locked over the girl with Wendy's. Phryne watched the exchange in amusement, trying to ignore the faint tightening of her chest.

“You know what that calls for?” Iris said, getting to her feet. “A goodnight song.”

That idea seemed to reconcile the girl with the idea to leave for bed and Lizzy all but skipped to the piano, pulling her Uncle along. Phryne couldn't shake the feeling that she had stumbled into another one of the Cox-Stafford's weird family traditions, when Jack and Iris climbed onto the stool, wedging their niece between them. They locked amused eyes, seemingly silently counting, while the rest of the group paused in their activities to listen.

Miss Fisher recognised the melody instantly. It was Mozart's “ _Little Night Music_ ” that Jack's dancing fingers drew from the instrument while chasing his cousins. Lizzy hit a few off notes in her attempt to join in with the occasional press of a key, but it didn't spoil the effect in the slightest. It was a picture of such utter harmony and joy, that Phryne found tears in her eyes, she hadn't expected at all.

Something nagged at her, a thought that wouldn't let up. But at the same time there was something so utterly touching to the scene, that she couldn't help but be moved all the same. The sensations mixed into a bitter-sweet taste on her tongue, that rendered her motionless. After the last notes where hit by Lizzy with gusto, the three turned, proud smiles plastered to their faces. Jack's eyes sought out Phryne's and she returned his look with an affectionate smile.

“That was wonderful. We haven't heard Mozart in too long,” Esmeralda said to Jack, for the first time pointing out that his absence had been noticed.

“Very true,” he smiled. “But I think we will a lot in the future. Our little one here is growing into a pianist.”

He ruffled Lizzy's hair, who looked exceedingly proud of herself.

“I wasn't even aware that there was arrangements of this piece for the piano,” Prudence Stanley chipped in, obviously rather pleased as well. She had had not idea that the Inspector played an instrument. Phryne could see her tick another box on her mental list and couldn't help rolling her eyes.

“Oh we had it done many years ago. I believe it was Anna, who had the idea that the two should try their luck at four handed playing. It was one of her favourite pieces.”

A brief glimpse of fond melancholy ghosted over Uncle Walter's usually almost unshakable features as he spoke of his sister.

“And she would have been proud to know that it is still being played,” Olivia threw in, dropping her last card and effectively winning the game. “And that the tradition is living on.”

Will smiled at his girl, who beamed at the indication that she was making her dead Grandmother proud.

“But now it's bedtime, little Lady,” he said, picking the protesting girl up and throwing her over his shoulder. People watched Wendy follow her family into the hall smiling, before they returned to their occupations. When Jack turned to sit with Phryne, she had gone.

 


	26. Willow

“You know, disappearing without a word while a murderer is sneaking through the shadows is not a very kind move,” Jack pointed out casually, leaning against the wall, where Miss Fisher was smoking.

“I can take care of myself, Jack,” she insisted and he decided not to point out the numerous occasions where she had escaped death only by an inch and not always completely without his assistance. Mostly because he didn't want to think about it too hard. He had gotten used to her free spirit with time but it didn't mean that he wasn't scared out of his wits, that he wouldn't make it there in time one day.

“I never questioned that you can.”

“There is just a little too much family in there,” she admitted after a while.

“I do apologise for that, Miss Fisher,” he smiled.

The stone was warm in his back, still storing the heat from the only just set sun, while he looked at his tree, with it's leaves rustling lightly in the wind. The vines seemed to have climbed even higher if that was at all possible, wrapping their slender arms around it's branches. They were entangled beyond separation.

“There are a lot of trees here,” Phryne said, shaking him out of his thoughts. “How many members of your family are you still hiding?”

He smiled at this.

“Still a few, despite not all of those trees belonging to someone. The walnut tree there is Walter's, and the big linden over there is my mother's. It survived her. Even though it was only planted when she was 16, so I guess it does have some years to go.”

“Let me guess. Olivia has an olive tree?” Miss Fisher joked, purposefully distracting him. Jack grinned into the darkness, while she rubbed out her cigarette with her heel.

“Actually no, hers is an apple tree for some reason. I guess she can count herself lucky, she didn't end up being named Jonathan.”

“What about this one?”

Jack eyes followed the gesture of her hand to a maple.

“My sisters. One of the people I am still hiding from you. For good reason, I assure you.”

Phryne smiled.

“There are also some people I don't know myself,” she heard him say. It made her turn her head in astonishment.

“I have an aunt, or so I'm told. My father's sister Sophie. She vanished before I was born.”

“She didn't happen to be in your uncle|s office at the time, did she?”

Jack laughed.

“I don't think she has ever been to Wombat hall, actually. The Robinsons were living in Melton back then.”

“Didn't you say, your father was a young police officer here in Daylesford?”

Jack nodded. “I believe he didn't take Sophie's disappearance well and cut loose from his parents after the events.”

“Reminds me of someone,” Phryne grumbled under her breath.

“Well, he did have a point. There was quite some scandal attached.”

“Scandal in the Robinson clan? Do tell.”

The Inspector grinned. He could have guessed that this would pique Miss Fisher's curiosity more than trees.

“There was a young man, son of some family friends. According to rumour he had an affair with my grandmother though. And then eloped with her daughter.”

“Scandalous indeed,” Phryne commented, lighting another gasper. “Did they get married?”

“According to her letters, they did.”

Jack stole the gleaming stick from her fingers, taking a deep draw, before continuing,

“She sent postcards from all parts of the world and later also pictures of her children. But nobody has ever seen her again.”

Miss Fisher thought about this for a while.

“Seems an awfully long time to hold on to a grudge.”

Jack handed back her cigarette smiling.

“That seems to be in the Robinson's blood. I believe, it took ten years before father spoke to his mother again. She has asked to meet you, by the way.”

“I'd like that.”

Phryne wasn't lying. Meeting Jack's family suddenly seemed a lot more adventurous than she had anticipated. All in all she found the experience rather astounding and not only because it showed facets of her Inspector she hadn't witnessed before. There was suddenly a whole lot of people in her life that she realised she actually cared about to varying degrees, be it for their own sake or for their part in Jack's happiness. Stretching her hand out to touch his, she instead found his leg. Jack was currently running his fingers through his hair trying to brush off the thoughts of just how good his father was in holding on to a grudge. When her warm skin touched his thigh, almost forgotten sensations from dinner returned with powerful force.

“Speaking of family scandal, Miss Fisher,” he said hoarsely, grabbing her hand and turning to her, “if you insist on teasing me during family dinners, I might have to resort to drastic measures.”

While he'd said that he had stepped in front of her, practically locking her against the wall. Miss Fisher looked up at him with big eyes and a tiny smirk.

“Is that so, Inspector?” she breathed, so much teasing in her words that they seemed to tingle in every single one of his nerve endings. The hand that he wasn't holding onto, trailed seductively along his hipbone, while he moved in closer, trapping her. She could feel his body respond through the layers of fabric separating them and gasped in a mixture of surprise and arousal, when Jack lifted her hand to his lips and gently nipped at her fingertip, without removing his eyes from hers for a second.

“Very much so,” he smiled. “But probably not here and now.”

“We should go back inside,” Phryne said, when she had regained her breath.

“Yes, we should,” the Inspector answered, without looking away or moving. The heat radiating from his body seemed to crawl under Phryne's skin. She could feel her knees weaken, her resolve had long since left. So what if their collected families were only a few walls away? His lips were a lot closer and she really, really wanted to kiss him. His flickering gaze and ragged breath told her, that he was thinking very much along the same lines.

“We really shouldn't do this here,” he uttered, his mouth now so close that she could feel his warm breath ghosting over here cheek.

“Indeed a very bad idea, Inspector.”

Their lips met and the following explosion in Phryne's nerve endings evaporated any remaining reason from her brain. His hands were suddenly everywhere, setting fire to her skin in their wake, and her own were clutching at his shirt with the desperation of a starving woman. There was a hard wall in her back, she realised, when he lifted her, hastily shuffling her skirt aside with strong hands, as if his life depended on it. She would probably be bruised by the morning, but right now, she didn't care. Just when the thought drowned in a blur of lust, his hand snaked around her head, shielding her from the stone and pulling her into another kiss. They swallowed each other's panting moans, as they rocked against the wall in an entanglement that was very much not suited for a family meeting. It was wrong, immoral and definitely forbidden and the fact made it all the sweeter. Jack tasted of vanilla and oak, tonight mixed with a hint of whisky and Phryne couldn't seem to stop kissing him while he ground his hips against hers, driving her to insanity. A white-hot explosion tore a muffled scream from her and dragged him over the edge. With a groan Jack collapsed against her, trapping her in an uncomfortable position. Phryne held onto him tightly while she watched the stars dance in front of her eyes.

“God,” she panted. Jack didn't answer. After he had managed a few ragged breaths, he retreated, gently setting her back on her feet. Her knees were trembling. When she looked up, she realised that he was watching her with dark eyes, cupping her cheek.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded, currently unable to speak. He didn't seem convinced, especially, when she reached out a hand for him to steady herself. Miss Fisher found herself gently being guided to sit in the grass.

“Phryne?”

“I am fine, Jack. A little overwhelmed maybe.”

He grinned at this, but his own voice still sounded shaky.

So they sat, their backs leaned against the wall that harboured the day's warmth in it's stones. Jack's arm had wrapped itself around his fiancée's shoulder, pulling her closer. The moon choose this very moment to pop out behind a pile of clouds, throwing shadows at the couple, quietly wrapped together. Slowly their heartbeats calmed, while they were absorbed in their thoughts.

“I just don't know how to approach him,” Jack said into the resulting silence, his voice level. He didn't have to explain. Phryne chewed on her lip in thought.

“Attacking him at any given chance is probably not going to lead to the result you are hoping for,” she smiled.

Jack sighed wordlessly somewhere in the darkness. His body was warm and Phryne had to resist the urge to just lay her head against his shoulder and drift off to sleep. After a long pause, she felt inclined to explain what she sensed he had missed, despite all his detective's instinct, blinded by his own anger and guilt.

“Jack, he does care, no matter what you think.”

“He has a hell of a way of showing it,” her lover grumbled, but she could sense his shields weakening.

When Phryne turned her head, she found him looking at her, searching for the truth he was longing for. She couldn't help herself and reached out her fingers to run them through his dark hair, dishevelling him even more. How they would explain their current state away, she had no idea. She was quite certain that one of her stockings had ripped during their encounter.

“Trust me,” she asked. He nodded, peeling her hand from his hair and pressing a kiss to her palm.

They returned to comfortable silence, looking at his oak with it's vines that were almost black in dark.

“Phryne, would you think it silly, if I wanted to get married here?”

For a moment he wondered if she had fallen asleep leaned against him. Then she sighed contentedly.

“I thought, you'd never ask.”

 

 

 

X

 

 

Miss Rucci answered the door herself. Joseph Barton appeared red and sweaty, as if he had run all the way back from Sydney, when he swept past her without really paying any attention to the pale old housekeeper.

“Dear God, how could this have happened?” he cried out. So they had told him already. “She has only been home since yesterday!”

“She went to her appointment this morning, and didn't return,” Miss Rucci stated calmly, closing the door behind her Master. She could honestly say that she wasn't particularly fond of him and had always considered him a rather odd choice for her girl. Not that it mattered any more Both her girls were dead. At the thought, the tears returned into her eyes. She really had thought, she had ran out of them this afternoon, after returning from the police station.

“But why would anyone want to shoot my wife?!” Joseph wrung his hands in a theatrical gesture, that she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at.

“I do not know, Sir,” she stated calmly, hoping to be dismissed, so she could mourn in peace. “But it was not only your wife. Madelyn... Miss Spencer, was also murdered, on Sunday.”

He stared at her, speechless.

“And you still let Abigail go out alone?!”

“What was I supposed to do, Sir? I could not keep her from attending her appointment.”

He rubbed his face with both hands.

“Of course not, Miss Rucci. Forgive me. I am just in shock.”

She nodded, pulling her face into a grimace.

“Would you like some tea, Sir?” she asked.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, when she finally closed the kitchen door behind herself. Of course, _he_ was in shock, she grumbled under her breath. He who had known Abigail for little more than a year and hated Madelyn with a passion. Miss Rucci was well aware that she was being unfair. Mr. Barton had adored his wife. But being angry was definitely better than crying, she decided, as she brewed two cups of tea.

 

X

 

“Won't they miss you?” Doctor MacMillan asked worriedly, as they followed the path along the lake. It was a rather warm evening with countless stars glittering over their heads, much like the night they had shared their first kiss. It seemed years ago now.

“They are used to me wandering off,” Hazel laughed. “I do have a reputation as a rebel to defend.”

Her hand reached out, lazily wrapping itself around Mac's warm fingers. It was daring, they both knew, but the Doctor didn't have the heart or the will to let go.

“Mrs. Stanley knows,” she said after a pause. Hazel bit her lip, suddenly serious.

“Did she say anything?”

Mac shook her head.

“She wanted to. I could tell, when she was yelling at your Uncle.”

“But she hasn't,” Hazel said, her voice unreadable.

“She has her moments of decency. Even though they are rare.”

They wandered for a while in silence, their hands firmly entwined, cool evening wind brushing through their hair, the dark lake splashing lazily against the shore.

“What do you think about my family, Mac?”

Elizabeth had to think about this. Somewhere far, a dog howled.

“I don't mind them mostly. Your Uncle, however, barely escaped being murdered in his sleep last night.”

“By multiple people,” her companion grinned. “Even Uncle Walter wanted to kill John and he is usually the most determinedly happy man in the world.”

“They seem quite nice. I am worried though, what they will make of... us.”

Hazel glanced at her lover's serious face, wondering how to answer this. She had hidden this part of herself away many years, but it was different now. She could not hide this forever. Not if she wanted to live this love. She sighed.

“They don't have to know.”

“It might be advisable to tell them, before they find out,” Mac stated quietly. “God knows, if Mrs. Stanley still feels like being decent tomorrow. And we aren't exactly careful.”

She didn't say what she was thinking. That she was sick and tired of being careful, of hiding and pretending. Her heart was beating faster every time she laid eyes on Hazel Morgan and she wanted to shout it into the world. Yet, she couldn't. Not without exposing them both to social disgust. It was so unfair, that she wanted to scream. Her hands balled up to fists, the right one wrapping tighter around her lover's fingers.

“I can't wait to get back to Melbourne,” she admitted. “At least there will be a little privacy and not family at every corner.”

Hazel nodded into the darkness.

“So, you want to continue seeing me there?” she wondered after a pause, just to make sure. Mac turned her head in surprise.

“You aren't seriously asking that?”

“No,” Hazel smiled, pulling her lover into the thicket near the shore, where, hidden from eyes, she dared to embrace her and bring her lips to hers. “I'm not,” she finished, after they had resurfaced, somewhat breathlessly from their kiss.

“You know, we could probably sneak in through the kitchen, if you wanted to stay for a while,” Mac proposed, unwilling to let go of her lover again. “My bedroom does have a lock.”

“That would not be very careful,” Hazel pointed out, gently nibbling the other woman's neck.

“No, no it wouldn't,” Mac all but moaned. As it turned out, they were both feeling a little rebellious.

 


	27. Peace Lily

Phryne turned with the office chair, causing it to squeak and watched Detective-Inspector Robinson at work. Currently he was sifting through a pile of letters, trying to find one that Madelyn Spencer had written herself. But the Assistant had been rather attached to her typewriter.

Miss Fisher yawned. She was wondering, why Jack was so obsessed with investigating all of a sudden. She had hoped to be back at the Villa by now, enjoying some much needed privacy and maybe return to earlier intimacies without the hard stone at her back.

“Nothing,” he sighed. “How can someone work for months in an office and not leave a single example of their handwriting behind?”

“Modern times, Jack,” Phryne smiled, tenderly running her fingers over the shiny typewriter. To her disappointment, the Inspector wasn't watching her though. With a huff he slapped down the papers.

“Why did the killer let her body disappear? And what was her sister doing here? Walter doesn't know anything about a business appointment, so someone lured her here under false pretenses.”

“Someone she trusted,” Phryne said slowly, chewing on her lip.

“Her husband would be the obvious choice, but he was in Sydney. Are we really sure about that though, Phryne?”

“Chloe confirmed, that Mr. Barton was having breakfast with them, while his wife died. She wasn't quite certain, if their run-in was quite as coincidental as he made believe. But he was definitely in Sydney.”

Jack rubbed his face with both hands and sighed.

“So that leaves who? Sam? Fred? Crossley? And Walter.”

“Your Uncle?” Phryne asked. “Why on earth would he want to kill Miss Spencer. Let alone Mrs. Barton?”

Jack leaned back with a tiny shrug. He looked tired, she noted.

“If he realised that someone forged his books, he might have suspected his Assistant.”

Miss Fisher frowned at this.

“But to kill her without proof for a few dollars? I don't think so, Jack.”

The Inspector didn't have an answer. For a long moment it was silent.

“What about your cousin?” Phryne asked. “Laura. If Fred had an affair with Miss Spencer, it could have been an act of jealousy.”

“Possible. But why would she kill the sister?”

“Shock?” Phryne pondered. “Maybe we are wrong and Mrs. Barton's death was an accident. If our killer was convinced of having murdered Miss Spencer and was suddenly confronted with his victim walking and breathing, he or she might have freaked out.”

“That would mean that the killer was walking around with a pistol in their handbag though,“ Jack grinned, sweeping his eyes to the embroidered piece, that was lying innocently on the desk.

“Since _you_ , to my knowledge, did not have an affair with Miss Spencer, I would have little motive to shoot her _or_ her sister, Inspector,” Phryne smiled.

“I find that very reassuring, Miss Fisher,” Jack said with a small grin, closing the file he had been riffling through.

“We had better call it a night.”

Phryne pulled herself to her feet, happy to finally get back to their bed. It had been a very long day. After locking the door behind them, they silently walked down the corridor, each lost in their own thoughts on the case. A shimmer of light caught their attention. Jack frowned, checking his watch.

“I didn't think anyone was still awake. It is after midnight.”

Phryne wasn't listening though; she had snuck up to the small gap in the door. Jack stepped quietly behind her, about to make a joke about her curiosity, when the picture she was watching, hit him. John Robinson sat, a full tumbler in his hand, staring at a piece of paper in his hands.

“He's not supposed to drink,” Jack grumbled. “With his heart it could kill him.”

The Inspector looked like he was about to storm the room and make a scene. Phryne felt inclined to lay a soothing hand on his arm.

“He's all grown up, Jack.”

The Inspector huffed, watching his father throw back the drink as if it was water.

“He seems upset,” Phryne pointed out.

Jack had a comment lying on his tongue about alcohol not going to solve the problem, but realized how hypocritical such a statement was just in time. He was himself prone to drinking too much under pressure, he had to admit. There was probably good luck more than good management that  had kept him from slipping too deep to recover. And Phryne had a point. His father _was_ looking upset, clutching onto the letter in his hand and currently refilling his glass, without looking at the tumbler.

The Inspector pushed the door open, before he could stop himself.

“Father?”

Phryne breathed a sigh of relief. The coldness had gone from Jack's voice, something had finally clicked in his head.

“Jack?”

John Robinson sounded like he was drowning. There were no tears, but his eyes were suspiciously red all the same and Jack felt a pang of guilt and worry. Then something changed in the old man's face, as if he had remembered, who he was and pulled up his defensive shields.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was actually wondering the same thing,” Jack said, sitting down beside him.

“Nothing much, I just couldn't seem to go to sleep.”

Phryne watched in astonishment, as the old man subtly placed his hand over the envelope, as if trying to hide it from the curious eyes of his son. But Jack Robinson had been a policeman for a very long time. Without a word, he pried his father's hand off the paper and snatched it up. Then his mouth fell open.

“This is a letter from Mrs. Barton! Addressed to _you_!”

His father looked at the floor.

“She came to see me this morning,” he admitted.

“And you didn't feel the need to tell me this?” Jack spat, all anger returning at full force. “You do remember, what obstruction of investigation means, Father, or have you forgotten all you learnt as a Police Officer?”

Phryne couldn't stay in her hiding place any longer. This was not quite the reconciliation she had hoped for. She fished for the letter, without either of the men protesting.

John Robinson buried his face in his hands. He sounded tired, when he spoke again.

“Believe it or not Jack, I did not know. Miss Fisher neglected to mention the sister's name when she explained the connections to me.”

Jack glanced at Phryne, opening his mouth to tell his father, that he better not dare trying to pin this on Miss Fisher. But his fiancée didn't seem to care. She was currently reading his father's mail as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do.

“You didn't recognise her? You were kneeling beside her body this morning!”

“I've never met the woman before, Jack. I have shared a few letters with her, she wanted to meet me here.”

“And you agreed? To meet some random woman?”

“Not quite, Jack,” Miss Fisher's voice cut in their heated discussion, causing two pairs of grey eyes to fly up. “It seems, Abigail Barton was your cousin.”

“What?”

“I was not actually sure, if it was true,” John Robinson explained. “She sent me a letter, about three months ago, claiming to be one of the girls Sophie sent us pictures of and said she knew where my sister was. I was naturally suspicious.”

“As you should be,” Phryne said, while Jack stayed silent. But she could imagine what was happening in his head right now.

“She was rather secretive, wouldn't tell me where Sophie was or how she had found me. But she wanted to meet me here and I thought it made sense to see her and figure out if she really knew anything. Of course, I did expect her to knock at the front door, not sneak through the gardens.”

Jack jumped to his feet, starting to pace the room.

“And when a young woman died, while you were waiting for one, it didn't occur to you that it might be the same one? I had thought you a better policeman.”

John Robinson didn't seem to hear the cutting remark.

“She was identified as the missing Miss Spencer. Why should I have questioned that? I'll admit I was slightly distracted by my son acting like a pouting child or I might have drawn the conclusion somewhat earlier.”

Phryne rolled her eyes at the two men. She was getting tired of their continual sniping at each other.

“Your son was busy with a murder investigation that you withheld vital information from.”

“I could hardly jump up in the middle of dinner and yell, 'I knew her, I knew her', could I?”

“You could have approached me afterwards,” Jack said pointedly, turning on his heels to make another lap around the room.

“I was waiting for a quiet moment to talk to you,” John explained. “And then you vanished for over an hour. God knows, what you've gotten up to and honestly, I do not want to know.”

Jack couldn't help the light blush spreading from his ears down his neckline, but opened his mouth to make a cutting remark all the same. Then he looked at Phryne and something changed. It was subtle, but Miss Fisher knew her Inspector well. He went silent for a moment and when he spoke again, his voice had returned to normal.

“You know what I was doing, father? I was speaking with Phryne about our wedding. We would like to have it here and I want you to be there and be nice to people and pretend that you are happy for me. Do you think you can do that?”

John Robinson stared at his son as if he had just grown a second head. Then he cleared his throat.

“Yes. Yes, of course, I can do that.”

Jack sat down, grabbing for Phryne's hand in a gesture that was as much an obvious display of affection as an appeal for support.

“Because, I will be honest with you, I am tired of this. It's been a decade. And I have no idea, what I have done to you, but I do know that I want my father back.”

John opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish - nothing came out. Jack pressed Phryne's hand, thanking her in silence for her support. Whatever came out of this tonight, it would move him forward instead of letting him stew in his own juice any longer.

Miss Fisher leaned over, brushing a kiss to her Inspector's hair. They had won the battle, now the patching up was up to him. Jack let go reluctantly when she excused herself, but he knew it as well. Silence settled over the two man, while they sat, looking at each other.

“You have done nothing, Jack,” John finally uttered, calmer than he felt. “You just came back from the War and I could see the emptiness in your eyes. I believe your mother missed it at first, but I didn't.”

Jack rubbed his face with both hands, while his father continued quietly.

“And all I wanted to do was shake you awake and yell 'son, you are back. It's over. The sun is shining and your wife is happy to have you again and why the hell aren't you happy too?'”

Jack tried to take that in.

“So you thought insulting me would make me happier?”

John shrugged at this. He looked embarrassed.

“The words went away, but the urge to yell and shake you, was pretty persistent.”

They smiled wryly at each other. For a long time, the ticking of a clock was the only sound in the room.

“Did you notice Phryne's ring?” Jack finally asked. If his father was surprised by the change of subject, he didn't show it.

“It's rather hard to miss. I was wondering if you'd sold your house for that.”

“Actually, the house is still very much mine. I only choose not to live there.”

Jack stopped for a moment, wondering if he should share what was on his mind. It was rather intimate. But they were finally talking and the words just wanted out.

“The stone in the ring is a symbol, father. Of the day I finally made my peace with the War.”

John looked at his son. His eyes were dark in the dim light and he didn't say a word, but he was listening with his whole body. Jack wrung his hands in his lap. It was hard to explain this particular moment without details that you didn't share with your parents.

“It was Phryne. She gave me my peace back. That same night I decided that I was going to try and convince her to marry me.”

He smiled at the memory, before tearing his eyes from his hands. To his astonishment, he noted John wiping at his eyes. Then, as if finding a sudden resolve, the old man fished for something in his pocket. Jack looked at the small familiar item in his father's hand in stunned silence.

“I do not know if you want it. If your Miss Fisher wants it, more like it. But,” he smiled. “it could be the symbol of the night she gave you your father back.”

Jack swallowed, tears glittering in his eyes. Then he tenderly took the ring from his John's palm,

locking their gaze. “Are you sure you want to part with it?”

The old man shrugged.

“She would call me a fool for carrying it around in my pocket after all those years.”

“That she would.”

Jack played with his mother's wedding ring like he used to when he was little. He ran his finger over a familiar scratch.

“There is no obligation attached to this, Jack. If your fiancée wants something less old fashioned I understand. But I do believe your mother would like her to have it.”

Jack stored the precious gift carefully in his shirt pocket.

“Thank you.”

John shrugged nonchalantly.

“It's what father's do – or so I'm told.”

His son grinned and finished the Whisky, before his father could do anything stupid.

 

X

 

The man on the bed snored quietly. Laura wasn't sleeping. She hadn't slept in days. Not that Fred had noticed, she sighed to herself. He didn't seem to notice a whole lot about her. She slipped onto the bench under the window of her old childhood room and clutched a pillow to her nightdress clad chest, looking out at the moon. Laura was grateful that her little boy seemed to have decided to sleep through the night, so she had a chance to chase after her dark thoughts in peace. Her husband turned in his sleep. He did seem to sleep less peacefully since she had died. Of course, he had to be mourning. Laura wondered silently, if he had been in love with his her or if what they had was just physical. She had noticed the tension between them months ago, yet she couldn't bring herself to ask.

Laura pulled her knees to her chest. Deep down she should probably be grateful to the murderer for relieving her of the dark secret threatening her marriage. But Jack would have to find out, wouldn't he? And he would expose it to the world and make her look like the pathetic, betrayed wife that she was. Laura couldn't help the angry tears in her eyes. She wondered if he would stay once his secret became known? Or would he up and leave? Or worse? Had he murdered Miss Spencer himself? Laura wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and stubbornly stared out into the night. It couldn't be. Fred was a kind-hearted man. He might have gone astray, but he would never hurt anyone. Or would he? Maybe if he really loved a woman, more than he loved her, he would be passionate? Silent tears rolled down her cheeks and a tiny sob escaped her throat that she stifled quickly, before it could wake her husband. Another pair of eyes, just a few metres away, stared into the darkness in silence. Fred didn't move a muscle, while his heart broke in his chest. He had to resolve this, but he didn't know how. All he knew was that he couldn't lay awake another night listening to his wife crying.

 

X

 

Hazel could hear the floorboards creak under her feet in a sound that seemed to echo of the walls. As much as she tried to remember which were the loose ones, she just couldn't seem to miss them. But it had been worth it, her pounding heart and the silly smile on her face reminded her. Her first night with Mac had been everything she had hoped for and more. Despite the fact that she had to sneak out of the warm bed and the Lake Villa before even dawn could set in. It was still a dangerous adventure, especially with Mrs. Stanley knowing. And Jack slept behind the next wall. Even though from some sounds in the past night, she had a slight suspicion there had not been too much sleeping involved over there either. Hazel's grin evaporated, when she bumped into someone soft, sneaking through the shadows.

“Hazel?”

She froze, as Iris' sleepy voice sounded through the dark corridor in a confused whisper. Seconds later, light was flaring and the two sisters stared at each other in confusion. Iris looked like she had just snuck out of bed to use the bathroom, her hair tousled and her feet bare under her nightdress. Her sister looked very much like she had been not on her way to the bathroom but sneaking from her lover's bed in the middle of the night. Possibly she could pretend, that she had just gotten dressed to get some fresh air, Hazel considered. But then Iris had known her all her life and also, there was a telling smear of lipstick on her face, barely concealed by the blush that spread over her cheeks. She stayed silent, praying that she was having a nightmare.

“Oh my God,” said her sister, after sizing her up in silence for a second. Then her voice turned into an excited whisper. “You have been with the Doctor haven't you?”

Hazel found herself speechless.

“I..we...I brought her home,” she finally admitted sheepishly. Surely she could just have fallen asleep and rubbed Mac's lipstick onto her face in her sleep accidentally. In another world. But when she looked up, her sister didn't look appalled at all. Instead she was pulled into a tight, bone crushing hug.

“How did you know?” Hazel finally heard herself asking into Iris' shoulder, trying to blink the tears away that threatened to overwhelm her.

“You are my sister,” Iris said quietly without letting go. That Hazel couldn't deny. Instead she wrapped her arms tightly around the other woman, holding onto her as if she might drown.

 


	28. Rosehip

Jack awoke in the grey morning light shivering. The warm body usually keeping him warm was absent and he was still wondering if he wanted to go looking for her when Phryne quietly pushed open the door, two cups in hand. The smell of coffee wafted through the bedroom and Jack smiled at his lover.

“You have made your point, Miss Fisher.”

With a grin, she sat down on her side, sneaking her cold feet back under the duvet and handing him his cup.

“It was a rather long night,” she stated, snuggling up to him.

Jack took a sip, wrapping an arm around her. This was exactly how he imagined heaven. Then something occurred to him.

“Phryne, it's all a little hasty now, but... my father had a proposal for you last night,” he said. She hummed sleepily against his shoulder. Jack fished the ring from his nightstand's drawer, holding it in front of her eyes. With some effort Miss Fisher pried an eye open, staring at it.

“Your father wants to marry me?” she grinned.

“He is a little late for that,” Jack joked.

“Oh, I don't know. We haven't tied the knot just yet.”

Phryne pulled herself into a sitting position, studying the piece closer, while the Inspector watched her, waiting for her verdict.

“It's your mother's isn't it?” she finally asked.

Jack nodded, swallowing nervously.

“Please understand there is no pressure, Phryne. It is an offer. If you do not feel comfortable with a ring that belonged to a dead woman you have never met, I understand.”

Phryne looked up into the sincere eyes of her future husband, reading him like a book. She trailed her hand down his cheek and Jack leaned into her comforting embrace. It would have been nice, he thought sadly, but it didn't really matter.

“Of course, I'll wear it.”

He ripped open his eyes to look at her. She smiled.

“Your father has brought this with him to Daylesford, so it is obviously very precious to him. And yet, he has given it to us. I am not going to refuse a peace offering, Jack.”

She gently pressed a kiss to his still wordless lips.

“And also your mother did have excellent taste.”

Jack allowed himself a wry smile and Phryne laid the ring back into his palm.

“She was a very special woman,” the Inspector said, looking at the little circlet.

“I had gathered that,” Miss Fisher smiled. “And there is no doubt on my mind about wearing her ring. I would be honoured.”

Jack nodded at that, closing his fingers over the gold band that suddenly held so much more meaning than ever before.

“So, when were you thinking of doing this, Inspector?” Phryne asked beside him. He stared at her startled and cleared his throat.

“I hadn't really thought about that yet, Miss Fisher. There is no rush.”

“Well,” Phryne said, rolling onto her back, “if you are intent on getting married in the grounds of Wombat hall, there might be. It is becoming autumn fast and I do not wish for my lips to freeze together before I can utter my vows.”

“We might have to wait for spring then,” Jack said, trying to hide his disappointment by sipping his coffee.

Phryne looked up at him, a cheeky smile appearing on her face.

“Or we could do it right here and now.”

To his credit, the Inspector didn't splutter any coffee onto the white sheets. But his voice sounded a little ragged, when he resurfaced from his attempts to contain the hot beverage in his mouth.

“Now?”

“Well we are already here, Jack. So are most of the people we care about. We might as well get this over with, before your father changes his mind about his approval.”

Jack raised his eyebrows.

“'Getting it over with' is not quite how I want to approach our wedding, Miss Fisher.”

She rolled her eyes at him and leaned on her elbow.

“Oh, don't be so literal, Jack. We know we will get married, so we might as well do it tomorrow as next year. And I honestly don't want to wait till next year.”

He smiled at her, his heart fluttering in his chest.

“Tomorrow might not be quite possible. There is some bureaucracy attached to a wedding, Miss Fisher.”

“You would not believe the things that are possible, Inspector,” Phryne smirked, “with enough money and a nice little title. But you will find out, once you are my husband.”

She kissed him and rolled herself out of bed.

“Where are you going?” he asked, watching her get dressed.

“Well, even with my riches at hand a wedding licence isn't going to fly through the door by itself. And also,” she stepped to the bed and lifted his arm to check his watch, “Hugh is due to arrive at the train station in three hours. By then we should have talked to your family, found out when exactly Mr. Barton is back from Sydney and looked through the Coroner's report.”

Jack sighed without any sincerity and dragged himself out of bed. He had kind of hoped for a nice quiet morning in bed, but with Miss Fisher by his side, that wasn't to be. Yet, the idea of applying for a marriage licence made him feel more giddy with excitement, than such a piece of bureaucracy by rights should have.

“I think I also need to talk to Mac,” Phryne tore him from his thoughts. “I don't mind personally, but I do fear that Aunt Prudence is not going to take kindly to their nightly activities, should she discover them.”

Jack had up till now tried to avoid wondering where the noises he heard last night had come from.

“They have nowhere else to go,” he pointed out, buttoning his cuffs.

“I know that, Jack,” Phryne sighed, making him wonder for a moment, if she did mind after all. He didn't expect such a reaction from her. Miss Fisher was all about breaking as many rules of society as possible and she did adore Mac. But then, maybe the reality of her friend parading her sexuality around in front of her eyes was more confronting than the abstract. To his surprise, Phryne sat down, sighing.

“I am worried, Jack. Mac is losing her heart and fast. And while I like your cousin, your family is not exactly free from prejudice.”

He sank down beside her, nodding in silent agreement.

“It's hard, not living up to expectations,” he said, after a moment of silence, thinking about all the pain it had brought him over the years. To his surprise, he didn't get an answer. When he looked up, Phryne had visibly paled and sat stiffly at the edge of the bed.

“Jack, there is something I feel I need to ask,” she said. Jack gulped. The seriousness in her voice scared him even more than her white face. When she looked up at him, her eyes were bright and huge.

“Are you really, absolutely certain that you want to go through with the wedding?” she asked into the silence. Jack felt his heart stop, then it kept going, pounding painfully in his chest. He felt numb.

“Phryne,” he finally croaked out, “please don't do this to me.”

He rubbed his face with both palms, resolving to stare at the floor. He wasn't sure if he could have stopped himself from crying if he looked at her.

“Jack...”

Phryne trailed off, not certain, what she could say. She felt he had misunderstood her completely.

“I never wanted to force you into marriage. If you don't want this, we call the whole thing off,” Jack said in sudden resolve. His lover still looked at him stunned.

“I'm sure your father would appreciate us returning to our previous state of sin,” she joked finally.

“I couldn't care less,” Jack lied. “I want to...” he trailed off, deciding on honesty, “I _need_ to be with you, Phryne. And I want you to be happy. If that requires that we keep living in any form of immoral arrangement, so be it.”

He looked up at her, discovering the tears in her eyes and felt his throat tighten. She couldn't mean to end this, could she? Jack Robinson knew that a blown engagement usually didn't mean that only the wedding was off. But he hadn't anticipated that their wedding plans could endanger what they had. It was too strong, too right.

“Please,” he heard himself beg, grabbing her hands. They were ice cold. A silent tear dripped onto his fingers, then a hand cupped his cheek.   
“Jack, what are you on about?”

He looked at her, confused to find soft, wet eyes looking at him with so much love that it took his breath away. He shook his head slowly, trying to understand.

“I want to be your wife,” she whispered. “But I need you to understand, that we are not going to have children. Other than Jane,” she added on afterthought.

It was his turn to be speechless, as she babbled on.

“It's not like marriage, Jack. I am not going to change my mind about this. And I see you with Lizzy and I...” she paused to swallow down the knot in her throat, “I can tell that you want this, Jack. You're good at it and you should be a father. I cannot give you that without betraying myself, so please, if this is something you need, you need to go. Now. I can...” she paused, as her voice broke, “I can let you go today, but once you have promised me eternity, I will hold you to it,” she ended with a teary half-smile.

Jack escaped her grasp, pulling himself to his feet, as if sitting down he could not control his racing thoughts. Miss Fisher tried to ignore the pain in her chest, threatening to suffocate her. So this was when the choice would be made. He spun, looking at her with red eyes.

“Phryne, has it never occurred to you that I have been married for _16 years_ , without having a family?”

She gaped at him. Truth be told, she had avoided thinking too hard about his marriage so far. Or his sex life with Rosie, which she was quite sure was necessary for the conception of children, even in proper families. He crouched down in front of her, when she just wordlessly shook her head.

“We tried, two years before the war. Six years after,” he said calmly, grasping for her hands. Phryne didn't move.

“Considering that and the fact that you probably don't have your family planning device at hand when we lose our heads somewhere in a random lavender field, I believe it is safe to say that I might not be capable of having children of my own.”

Phryne swallowed, realising that this, while a relief for her, was huge for Jack. There was pain attached to it and she had just stirred it up again.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, pressing his sweaty hands.

“Don't be,” he smiled tearily. “I have given up on being a father many years ago. I have gotten over it. And here you come, Phryne, and you give me a daughter.”

Now he was openly crying and Miss Fisher decided that it was only fair to stop pretending and join in. Pictures came back to her, while she stroked his wet face, pictures of last night that she had been too distracted to let properly sink in. Jack laughing at Jane's interpretation of the London Bridge, them whispering together, while Will tried to demonstrate an Amazon on a horseback. The two of them sharing playfully cutting remarks about Hazel's last move, which for sure had let Mac win the round. Phryne had been too busy wondering if Jack wanted to be a father, to see that he was already working on it. She felt like a fool.

His fingers came up to wipe a wet lock from her face in an intimate, gentle gesture that meant more than any words he could have uttered and she leaned her hot, tired forehead against his.

“I love you,” she heard herself whisper, “so don't you dare cancel our wedding.”

“As you wish,” he smiled. “But,” he glanced at his watch, “if you still want to tell our families and apply for a licence we had better get on our way.”

Phryne thought about this. She had fully intended to pull him into bed and make love to him till they were both worn out enough to go back to sleep. But sadly, he was right. She couldn't have it both ways. She sighed, kissing a left-over tear from Jack's cheek, before pulling herself upright, followed by the Inspector.

“You know, reason really is a very annoying habit.”

“I know, Miss Fisher,” he grinned, finally managing to finish buttoning his shirt before capturing her head and kissing her in a way that made her almost regret her decision. “But we do have a lifetime to be unreasonable.”

 

X

 

The two women sat, their heads leaned against the bed frame, wrapped in the duvet. Soon they would have to get up and surely Rupert would miss his wife when he woke. But for the moment they were just happy to be were they were. Feeling connected again after a sleepless night.

“So, how did you know?” Hazel asked quietly, bringing up the subject, they had in all their talking not really returned to after they had retreated from the cold hall.

“A certain glimmer in your eyes,” Iris smiled. “Some looks here, some gestures there. It wasn't all that hard to guess.”

Hazel looked at her with huge eyes. She had never told her sister about her preference for her own gender. It had been hard sometimes, not sharing it with anyone.

“I expected you to be more shocked,” she finally admitted quietly. Iris shrugged.

“I was a little, when I found out. Then I waited for you to tell me. It has been a few years since then.”

“You never said anything.”

Iris tried to wrap her cold feet tighter into the blanket.

“It wasn't my secret to share. I was waiting for you,” she explained. Hazel let that sink in.

“Who else knows?” she asked into the resulting silence.

“Only Jack. He pointed it out to me, even though I believe he didn't really mean to.”

Hazel pulled her shoulders together in a gesture, her sister knew since they had been little. She was feeling guilty and scared.

“I didn't think it was that obvious,” she admitted miserably.

“He _is_ a detective,” Mrs. Walker smiled. “And I am quite certain that his watchful eye wouldn't have missed Doctor MacMillan's preferences either. They are friends as far as I can decipher.”

Hazel snuggled back under the covers, taking her sisters hand, who was looking at her quietly.

“I think I might be falling in love,” she whispered, with a faint grin to her face. Iris mirrored her smile.

“And I think you need to tell me everything about it,” she whispered back, then frowned in thought. “Actually, leave the bawdy details out, if you don't mind. But tell me all the rest of it.”

 


	29. Snowdrop

Like a thick, cold blanket of glittering snow, silence lay spread over the breakfast table. It wasn't a hostile quietude, not even a careless one. It was just the absence of conversation caused by a group of people absorbed in their own worlds. The emotions displayed on quiet features varied widely. It ranged from confusion to pain and from giddy happiness to relief. Most had in common only their blurry eyes and stifled yawns, while they stirred their teas cold and chewed on their slices of toast without tasting them. Sleep didn't appear to have come easily to anyone in the gone night. Jack had been watching his father's face for several minutes, pretending to drink his coffee. John's features seemed to have softened overnight and even though he also appeared a little too enthralled in his breakfast, he took the time to glance up at his son and show the idea of a smile on his lips. The Inspector was satisfied with that and let his eyes wander further down the table, to where his cousins sat. Iris and Hazel were actually eating and while both of them didn't look like they had gotten much sleep, they exuded a quiet happiness. In difference to Mac who had, probably in an attempt to hide herself away, moved between Olivia and Laura. The doctor was watching her lover with soft, thoughtful eyes and Jack's heart ached at the idea what hells were waiting on those two simply for taking a chance at love. He remembered when Phryne had expressed her opinion on “sodomy” very clearly to his face the first time. For a moment he had been offended for her questioning the laws he lived by. Then it had occurred to him, that he whole-heartedly agreed with her. He could not see the point in punishing people for who they were drawn to, be it gender, race or social status. Jack glanced at Phryne, who with precision spread strawberry-jam onto a piece of toast at present. If his fate would be prison for loving her, would he be able to stay away, he wondered?

He had battled his attraction, his feelings for so long, trying to protect his heart from being broken yet again and still he hadn't managed to resist, when life had thrown him the chance to be loved by her in return. And God knew, he did not regret a moment. His heart beat faster at the idea that he would share a lifetime with Phryne. It was unreal, but breathtakingly beautiful.

The Inspector realised that he was being watched. Jane seemed strangely absent, despite her big blue eyes being glued to him. Jack's conversation with his fiancée had reminded him yet again, how precious the wedding gift was that she brought into their marriage. A daughter that he had never thought he'd have. And not just any girl, but a pretty, clever and kind one. Right now, the expression on Jane's features worried him and the part of Jack that had started to turn into a father, ached to talk to her and find out what was bothering her.

A tipped over tea cup distracted him from his thoughts. Laura patted at the wet spot with her napkin, while the little boy on her lap seemed to find the whole situation rather funny. She looked close to tears, Jack found and the feeling of guilt returned. He remembered only too well the letter that Fred had hidden. Had he had an affair with Miss Spencer? And if yes, did Laura know about it? It would explain her appearance. He probably should talk to Fred in quiet. Jack made a mental note to drag him aside for an interview later on, but a glance at his watch reminded him that he didn't have time for that right now. They still needed to go see the Vicar and Constable Collins would be at the station at 11.30, hopefully with some helpful information in his luggage. And he also needed to break his wedding plans to the family, most of all his Uncle and Aunt; he could hardly get married on their grounds without their consent. But the present didn't seem the right time at all. Jack drained his cup, wondering if it would be better to postpone the information, when he heard a whispered conversation between his brother and his wife. It regarded the time tables of trains.

“You aren't intending to leave early, Will?” he asked loudly, shaking numerous people out of their reverie. His brother cleared his throat.

“We were considering it, as it is the birthday of Wendy's mother on the weekend,” Will Robinson explained. Wendy looked embarrassed. Jack chewed on his lip.

“Would it be terribly inconvenient, if you were to stay longer?”

Will cocked an eyebrow at his big brother, while the rest of the group followed the exchange with curiosity.

“If you wanted to catch up some more, we can always do that in Melbourne, Jack.”

The Inspector smiled wryly.

“That is of course true. But as things stand, I'm afraid, I might need a best man – very soon.”

Silence had been lying over the table like untouched snow till moments ago. Now many feet stomped over the crisp, glittering surface, as all hell broke lose.

 

X

 

He was ill or at least that was, what he was trying to convince himself of. Because Tobias Butler did not stay in bed past noon with his covers pulled over his head, unless he was suffering of at least a serious cold. He did feel terrible too, but the runny nose was missing. Instead, his chest ached. He turned under his duvet, trying to get warm, but in vain. As if Riya had taken the warmth with her when she'd left.

Mr. Butler had been alright yesterday. He had returned to the house, prepared himself some dinner and then settled in his bedroom with a book. He had been absorbed in his novel and almost asleep by the time the first people had returned from Wombat hall.

He had been alright - till in the middle of the night faint laughter had woken him. Seemingly his Mistress had stumbled up the stairs on her way home and the Inspector had had to catch her. They both seemed giddy with happiness and even though he did not know the reason for this, Mr. B had tried his hardest to be glad for them. It hadn't worked.

Crying really wasn't a habit that Tobias Butler had ever gotten into. Not even after his wife had passed away. But at the present it seemed an awfully tempting option. Instead however, he threw the sheets back and climbed out of bed, ignoring his aching limbs and the goosebumps on his skin. He was a grown man. Surely he could deal with a bit of heartache. A _fair_ bit of heartache, admittedly. He slung his morning gown around himself and stepped outside into the corridor, grateful that his Mistress had long since left for Wombat Hall. He didn't particularly care to explain his current state to her or anyone else. Just when he tried to enter the bathroom, a female shadow swept past him. It looked faintly like Dorothy.

“Sorry, I need to...” She didn't get any further, before he heard the sound of retching through the open door. Mr. Butler nodded to himself. He had made a decision. Now he might as well stick to it.

 

X

 

A light breeze carried over the smell of the lake when Detective-Inspector Robinson stepped out into the blinding sunlight. His watch reminded him pointedly that they really needed to leave if they wanted to squeeze in the talk with the Vicar before heading to the station. But Phryne was currently caught in a crossfire of wedding planning between Esmeralda and her Aunt and he was not going to try and get involved in this. Men making this mistake, could only get themselves a bloody nose.

So instead of getting something done, he aimlessly wandered through the garden in front of the Hall. He didn't see her until he had almost reached the small brick wall, she sat on with dangling legs. Jane still looked like she was absorbed in another world and Jack wondered for a moment if it was intrusive of him to even approach her, but he felt he needed to talk to her and figure out if he could help her dissolve her worries.

“May I?”

She nodded and he slipped on the wall beside her, causing a small spider to scatter away. For a whole while they just sat together in silence, both waiting for the other one to open a conversation.

“Is the wedding worrying you?” the Inspector finally asked, deciding on bluntness.

Jane shook her head, still saying nothing. It was unusual for her to be this quiet and Jack was starting to get nervous.

“You cried, didn't you?” she finally asked. “You both did, before you came down this morning.”

Jack gasped for air. He had not seen that one coming. But then, nobody had ever said that being a father was an easy task.

“You are right. We had an intense conversation this morning about marriage,” he explained. “And about whether to have children.”

Now Jane looked up at him in surprise.

“I don't think she wants children. I am quite certain, she didn't even want me to start with.”

“I think she was just being a coward,” Jack smiled. “She was in love with you after five minutes.”

Jane shrugged grinning, her feet dangling against the wall.

“That is quite possible.”

There was silence for a while and the Inspector kept wondering how to continue, when Jane spoke again.

“Are you going to have any? Children, I mean.”

Jack didn't answer straight away.

“We have a daughter. That's enough.” He glanced at Jane. “If you will have me, that is.”

“That's not up to me. It's the law.”

“By law I am only to be your guardian. But I would like to be your father. If you let me,” he said quietly, finding that his hands were trembling in his lap, while he waited for her answer.

She looked at his face for a long time, searching for something.

“I'm not sure how that works. I never had one,” she finally opted.

“We can learn together then. I never had a daughter before.”

They sat together quietly on the small brick wall, blinking into the sun, pondering. Waiting. Finally Jane turned her head to Jack, a broad grin spreading over her face.

“Right, let's give this a shot. Tell me a secret that you haven't shared with anyone before.”

The Inspector got over his surprise a mere second later, when something popped into his brain unannounced. Maybe it wasn't really a secret, only a thought he never had deepened too much and now it just felt silly. But a pair of big eyes continued to be glued to him and he didn't want to mess up his first appointment as a father already. And to be fair, it was probably the least traumatising secret he could come up with.

“Alright,” he decided, “but only if you promise not to tell anyone.”

 

X

 

A mere 30 minutes later the Honourable Phryne Fisher found herself rapping enthusiastically at the door of the Daylesford Vicarage. An elderly man with a crown of grey hair opened, a napkin stuck in his collar. When he spotted the lady in front of his door, he quickly pulled the telling piece of cloths from his garment.

“Vicar,” Walter's voice boomed. “How good to see you.”

Jack's Uncle had insisted on joining them, hoping to talk the spiritual leader around if there should be any trouble. The Vicar smiled thinly, obviously worried about the continuation of his lunch at this time.

“Mr. Cox-Stafford, what can I do for you?” he asked, looking at Phryne instead, who smiled at him as charming as she could currently manage after an half hour conversation about flower-arrangements.

“Oh, come on, Edward, we are still on a first name basis. We've known each other since school days.”

“I'm sorry Walter, but I seem to have forgotten your name in all the times, you have _not_ come to my church,” the man grinned, showing them in. Phryne felt the reassuring hand of Jack in the small of her back while the priest led them into his kitchen, were a single plate with some sort of roast was sitting on a polished wooden table.

“I'm sorry we are interrupting your lunch,” the Inspector said politely.

The Vicar waved absent-mindedly with his serviette and sat back down.

“There is no time like the present to find the way to the Lord. So what brings you here?”

“My nephew here wants to get married,” Uncle Walter explained happily. “And I would like you to wed them.”

The priest glanced at the serious faces of the couple.

“And I assume there is a catch to this offer, isn't there?”

“Two actually,” Phryne smiled. Vicar Bailey sighed, starting to eat again, while they talked. When they had finished, he looked up from butchering a potato and hummed.

“I'm afraid, it's impossible,” he said calmly.

Jack and Phryne shared a look. They had expected some complications, but not this.

“You can't be serious,” Mr. Cox-Stafford intervened from the back.

“I am actually quite serious, Walter.”

The old man laid down his knife and fork to look at the couple.

“I am not worried about marrying you in the gardens of Wombat Hall. While the church is of course the appropriate place for this, God is in every tree and every flower. I do not think it abdominal to leave the walls of a church to surround yourself with his creation for a ceremony like this. But you are already married, Inspector.”

“I am divorced,” Jack said stiffly.

“It is holy matrimony, Inspector. There is no divorce in the Anglican church.”

Jack felt his hand wrap painfully tight around Phryne's. She hadn't said a word yet, but he could feel her disappointment. He cleared his throat.

“And there is nothing we can do?” he asked quietly. “My former wife already remarried. Surely I cannot be expected to be held to a matrimony that she does not honour anymore?”

The Vicar tipped his head in thought.

“This is ridiculous, Edward,” Walter boomed.

Vicar Bailey sat upright, ignoring his old school friend and talking to the couple, who looked at him, their sweaty fingers tightly knotted together, disappointment written over their faces.

“I'm sorry, but this is how things are,” he explained. “I do personally understand that human beings are flawed and that reality might not always match up to the ideals of my church. But my hands are bound.”

“I find it is generally accepted to untie those hands with a generous donation to the church,” Phryne cut in, smiling a winning smile. The Vicar gulped, thinking of the ramshackle staircase in the tower that asked for suicidal tendencies to dare and ring the bells.

“And I am a _very_ generous woman,” she prompted.

The Vicar patted his sweaty forehead with his big grey handkerchief.

“I also find, that the Lord looks kindly on his sinners, when they show mercy on the ones in need,” he pressed out. “And therefore I would love to accept, Miss Fisher, but sadly, it is not in my power. You see, Bishop Gruner is a very strict believer in the holy matrimony between husband and wife and I would risk my position if I was to marry you. There is sadly nothing I can do. Nothing at all.”

He went silent, looking at the way the couple was clutching onto each other, their hands sharing comfort that neither of them felt. Right now, he hated his superior with a passion. Edward Bailey had become a priest in the hope to bring God closer to humans and humans closer to God. Not to make lovers unhappy and break his neck in the clock tower. He saw Walter Cox-Stafford open his mouth and lifted his hands to stop him.

“And please, do not give into the temptation and attempt to bribe Bishop Gruner. He is as straight as an arrow they say, and just as deadly.”

Walter closed his mouth, deflating.

Jack pulled himself to his feet, which seemed strangely wobbly, letting go of Miss Fisher's hand.

“We will have to try our luck down in Melbourne then,” he said, his voice rough. “I'm sorry, Phryne.”

His fiancée shook her head at him. She knew he would blame himself for not having had the insight 17 years ago, that he would want to marry the Honourable Phryne Fisher eventually. It was ridiculous.

“Thank you for your time,” she said with a tense smile and stretched out her hand. The man of God took it hesitantly. He wasn't sure what he had expected. Maybe more anger. But instead there was just polite sadness and that made him hate his boundaries all the more. Surely it couldn't be in the will of the Heavenly Father to have his beloved children suffer. After the couple had left the kitchen, Walter turned around and mumbled something suitably rude. It made Vicar Bailey feel a little better.

 


	30. Lemon Balm

By the time the train arrived in the Station, Jack Robinson had gotten a grip on himself. So what if the wedding couldn't go ahead as they had intended? Surely they would find someone who would marry them, eventually. He was divorced after all. Even if not to all the world, it seemed. Jack glanced at Phryne, wondering what she made of being rubbed with her nose into the fact, that “in God's eyes” he was still married to Rosie. She had snapped out of her sadness almost immediately, but he knew her too well to believe the happy front she was putting up. She was upset as well.

And the idea of having to explain to his family that he couldn't have his wedding here, was more than humiliating. Presently, Jack wished that he had been able to keep his mouth shut in the morning. But if he was honest, he hadn't anticipated a downright refusal.

“Good morning, Sir.”

The happy, eager voice of Hugh Collins ripped him from his thoughts. The Constable had brought a small suitcase and a lot of enthusiasm and Jack remembered, why he had called him here. Because he'd felt that they needed help solving this case that seemed to have nothing but question marks written all over it. And he was starting to wonder, if he himself was too entangled in the circle of suspects, to be as neutral as he needed to be. Of course, there was also the benefit of Mrs. Collins being able to tell her husband about her state in person. In this instance however, she had refused to pick him up from the station, as she seemed to be more comfortable in close proximity to a bathroom and therefore was home at the Lake Villa in the company of Mr. Butler. His inferior officer had noticed the absence of his wife as well.

“Dot is waiting at the Villa for you, she's feeling a little bit under the weather,” Miss Fisher smiled, before Hugh had a chance to ask. “Probably a stomach bug,” she fibbed happily, taking the Constables arm and leading him to Uncle Walter's car. Jack followed them.

“Have you found any information, Constable?” he asked, after slipping behind the wheel.

“Yes, Sir,” Collins fumbled in his pocket for his notebook, almost slapping himself in the face with it when the Inspector hit a small rock. Phryne felt a little sorry for him, but she knew why Jack was in such a hurry to ask. Once they arrived at the Villa, Collins would probably be out of action for some time. So it was their best bet to extract all knowledge from him, before he met Dot.

“Joseph Barton married Miss Abigail Spencer in October last year in Ballarat, she then relocated with him to Hepburn Springs. He is running a winery, which however is currently financially on the rocks, Sir.”

“How rocky are we talking, Hugh?”

“It could be closed by the end of the year, Miss Fisher.”

The detectives glanced at each other.

“What was Miss Spencer's financial situation like, when she got married?” Inspector Robinson asked. For a moment there was only the sound of leaves being riffled through.

“She brought some money into the marriage, but not sustainable to keep the crisis at bay, Sir. Apparently the biggest part of the Spencer's riches is to be inherited by the victim's older brother James. Now obviously, there is no question anymore to that, Sir. Since they are dead, I mean,” Collins added, when he got only silence for an answer.

“So, no motive,” Phryne said, almost disappointed.

“I wouldn't say that, Miss. You see, on Monday morning, Mrs. Barton has contacted an insurance company in Sydney and signed a life insurance benefiting her husband in case of her death.”

“That conveniently occurred only one day later,” Miss Fisher pointed out with a thoughtful smile.

“That's correct, Miss.”

“So a strong motive, but no means,” the Inspector concluded. “He was in Sydney, when Miss Spencer expired and also when his wife died.”

“He couldn't be at two places at once, Sir. There are plenty of witnesses as to him being in New South Wales at the time.”

Phryne pondered this. Everything pointed to the husband, but it couldn't be. Was someone trying to frame him and he had been lucky enough to be out of the state at the time? She thought of the cigarette case. Still, quite convenient that Mrs. Barton would choose to take out an insurance just the day before she died, solving all her husband's financial problems.

“About the other people you asked me to find out about, Sir,” Collins said. “You were correct, Samuel Cox-Stafford left Melbourne University two weeks ago.”

“He did not arrive at Wombat Hall till last Wednesday,” Jack stated quietly. “So where has he been in the remaining week?”

Phryne's hand found his knee, rubbing it gently. She knew how he hated the idea of his family being involved in those murders. Even now that it appeared like the victims might be relations to him as well.

“How about Fred?”

“Mr. Simmens-Cox-Stafford has left his business exactly as he has stated on Friday afternoon, announcing that he would travel up to Daylesford with his wife and son. According to his assistant, he has not changed his behaviour lately, Sir. No unusual business trips, no late hours. But... there is something else that strikes me as odd, Sir.”

“Out with it, Collins.”

“His Assistant, a Mr. MacWinter has noticed that some money went missing from the business accounts. No huge sums, apparently, but enough that he has talked to his employer about the occurrences.”

Jack sighed. So another Crossley in the Simmen's business. Hardly helpful in their murder investigation though.

“He would not have been pleased,” he heard Phryne say.

“That's the odd thing, Miss. He did not seem very bothered by it. Instead he ordered MacWinter to keep silent about it.”

Miss Fisher frowned.

“That's indeed strange,” Jack said under his breath. An idea was forming in his head. He would have to talk to Phryne about it. But first he would drop off the happy father-to-be for his appointment with fate – and his hormonal wife.

 

X

 

Mrs. Santi laid down the brush and looked at her creation. She bit her lip, then she took the canvas and threw it with vigour against the wall. Panting, she sat back down. Alright, so now she was feeling better – at least somewhat. A second later, a knock at the door shook her from her thoughts.

“Is everything alright, Ma'am?” Inga asked quietly, her eyes brushing over the destroyed canvas littering the floor.

“Everything is perfectly fine,” Riya heard herself say, noting the almost hysterical happiness in her voice. The maid didn't believe her, but she pretended to all the same and was about to withdraw with a polite word, when her Mistress called her back.

“Inga, how is the packing progressing?” she asked, realising that really she was just looking for company so she could stop thinking for two minutes about a kind, humorous face under a missing head of hair.

“The same as two hours ago, Ma'am,” Inga said, obviously trying to not roll her eyes. Mrs. Santi appreciated the effort.

“We will be leaving as soon as possible,” Riya said, grabbing another canvas and chewing at the end of her paintbrush in thought, which really was a terrible habit.

“Yes, Ma'am, you mentioned.”

Inga realised, that nobody was listening anymore and withdrew in silence. How a clever woman could be so utterly stupid, she would never know. Back in the atelier, Mrs. Santi surrendered. So she would not paint anything else before she had painted what wouldn't leave her alone. She might as well get it out of her system, she decided, dipping the brush into water.

 

X

 

Mr. B wasn't eavesdropping. Of course he wasn't; that would have been completely unsuitable in his position. Yet he couldn't help that the silverware he was currently polishing, despite it already sparkling, was just a little bit too close to the door leading to the sitting room, where the Collins had withdrawn to. To his worry, it was utterly silent in there. Mr. Butler couldn't know that this was caused by Hugh Collins currently staring at his wife speechlessly. Dorothy felt her stomach revolt, but was at present not willing to give in to the urge to storm to the next bathroom. It just didn't seem very poetic. Then she watched a tiny grin spread over her husband's lips, expanding until his whole face and then his whole body was covered in a smile as bright as the sun. He grasped her hands.

“I am going to be a father?”

“Well, that was always the plan, Hugh,” she pointed out sheepishly.

“Yes, but now it's happening.” He stared at Dot's belly. “So, there is actually a little one in there? That's amazing, Dottie.”

He looked at his wife, as if she had invented the gift of motherhood single-handedly.

“Yes, there is,” his wife smiled, patting the tiny bump she imagined to be there.

“I will play football with my son,” Hugh explained joyful. “Or dolls with my daughter,” he hurried to add with a look at the thunderstorm brewing on Dots face before getting up to crouch down in front of her.

“For all I care you can play football with your daughter,” Dorothy smiled happily, leaning in for a kiss. She was still intoxicated with the excitement and finally sharing it with Hugh was so much more wonderful. His big eyes were filled with absolute pleasure, as he reached up to kiss her. Sadly, her stomach didn't have any sense for the romantic.

“Excuse me,” she squeezed out, pushing her surprised husband away, while pressing a hand to her mouth and running for it. A knock at the second door tore Hugh from staring after her with a silly grin on his face.

“Would you like some tea, Constable?” Mr. Butler asked, content with the display of glee on the young man's face. Hugh pulled himself onto wobbly knees while answering.

“You know, I think I might need something stronger today, Mr. Butler.”

 

X

 

“Nothing surprising,” Jack concluded, flicking the Coroner's report shut and handing it to Phryne.

“A single shot in the chest from close proximity, just as your father concluded,” Miss Fisher answered a moment later. “She must have died almost instantly.”

Jack hummed unhappily.

“What is it?” Phryne asked, knowing this to mean that something was on his mind.

“Why take such a big risk? There were people all over the gardens when Mrs. Barton was shot.”

Miss Fisher chewed on her lip.

“It's almost as if it was a staged drama. The same kind of dress on both women, the same hair brooch, both with a bleeding wound in the chest. Neither dress was really suitable for the occasion and time of day either.” Looking at Jack she continued, “and I am well aware, that my personal sense of fashion is not a measure of 'suitable', Inspector Robinson.”

“And the disappeared body,” Jack added. “Why go through all this trouble of letting one body disappear and then shooting the second woman as if it was a bad theatre act?”

“Maybe the killer was hoping that we would think them the same woman?” Phryne pointed out.

“He would have to realise though, that our first way would be to the next-of-kin.”

Miss Fisher's fingernails drummed impatiently on the table top. They seemed to be turning in circles. It was all just one big mystery and she couldn't help the feeling, that that was exactly what the killer had intended. From beginning to end this was his game and they were playing along. She looked up, when the Sergeant entered.

“Mr. Barton is here, Sir, Miss.”

Jack got up with a sigh.

“Bring him in, please.”

Joseph Barton was a tall, broad man with a dark set of hair and prominent cheekbones, handsome in a rough kind of way. He looked like one of the dark, charming strangers occurring frequently in the penny dreadfuls Miss Fisher read sometimes out of boredom. They usually had something to hide. He was the perfect suspect for a murder investigation.

“Please take a seat, Mr. Barton. I trust you know, why you are here?” Inspector Robinson asked, well aware that the police in Sydney had lost no time to inform the man of his wife's demise.

“I still don't understand it,” Joseph Barton said, sinking into a chair. His voice didn't suit him, Miss Fisher found. He spoke like he was about a meter smaller than he was.

“It seems indeed all very mysterious,” she cut in, sharing a look with Jack. “Do you have an idea, why your wife decided to head to Wombat Hall on Tuesday morning?”

They might as well find out, how much their suspect knew about his wife's secret family connections. To their disappointment, he shook his head.

“I wouldn't have the faintest clue,” he answered. “Truth be told, I have never done much business with the Cox-Stafford's. We had a disagreement a few years back, when I was considering to add a sort of apple wine into my production. The deal didn't go ahead and Mr. Cox-Stafford was enraged.”

“And he still employed your sister-in-law?” Jack asked.

“I am not sure, if Madelyn informed him about the connection,” Joseph Barton pointed out. “My sister-in-law was not particularly fond of me. I believe the only reason she came to Daylesford was, that she didn't trust me alone with her sister.”

“Were the women close?” Phryne asked, watching the man twist his hat in his hands.

“They used to be,” he said quietly. “I will not lie to you, the mutual dislike I shared with Madelyn Spencer put some strain onto their relationship as well as my marriage. Poor Abigail was stuck in the middle. I was actually rather hoping that the distance would resolve some of those issues and then her sister decided to move out here. I was not pleased.”

Jack nodded silently, deciding to change the subject.

“Mr. Barton, how is your business standing?”

A pair of sorrowful eyes flew up, looking at the Inspector in surprise.

“Since you are asking this, I assume you have already heard the rumours,” he stated calmly. Jack leaned back in his chair.

“I generally do not take rumours into account, Mr. Barton. But I do have information, that you are in a little bit of strife.”

The man took a deep breath before answering.

“I'm afraid, 'a little bit of strife', is understated, Inspector. We are in big trouble and I fear I will have to close the winery, if things do not improve dramatically.”

“Your wives death should have cleared that up nicely,” Miss Fisher said, in a complete lack of tact. Jack shot her a look somewhere between annoyance and admiration. The mourning widower seemed to be thrown for a moment.

“What do you mean?” he finally asked with suppressed anger in his voice. “My wives death is a tragedy and I am about to lose everything I care about. I find this a less than considerate statement.”

Jack leaned forward behind his desk, clasping his hands together.

“You mean, you did not know that your wife took out a life insurance the day before she died?”

Mr. Barton stared at him, his mouth agape.

“Abigail? No, she didn't say a word!”

The Inspector took his time riffling through his papers.

“In case of her death, a sum of 70.000 pounds is to be paid to her husband, Mr. Joseph Barton. Signed two days ago during your trip to Sydney. And you are telling me you had no knowledge of this whatsoever?”

Jack gave the man a piercing stare, but Mr. Barton still seemed to struggle with the information.

“But 70.000 pounds? That is insanity!”

He buried his hands in his palms.

“Dear Abigail. This will save my business. But to what price?”

Miss Fisher couldn't help it. She felt it was too much. The whole case appeared like a cheaply staged drama and this was another act she did not see the point in. She slipped quietly to her feet and left, getting some fresh air outside. Could Abigail Barton have planned her own murder? To save the winery? That made absolutely no sense. Phryne fished for her cigarettes but to her disappointment didn't find any. She was considering to cross the busy main street to head over to an inviting tobacco shop, when she noticed the young couple arguing in an alleyway. She recognised them instantly, and slipped behind a cart in an attempt to not be seen.

“You cannot believe every rumour you hear,” Samuel yelled desperately.

“Just tell me if you had something to do with it,” Christine answered calmly. “It is a fair question between friends.”

A painful expression crossed the young man's face.

“You can't seriously believe, that I murdered her?” he asked quietly. Christine chewed on her lip.

“I don't. But everybody knows you and her were...” she trailed off, looking upset.

Sam reached out his hand in a comforting gesture, but she retreated.

“It doesn't matter, Sam. If you tell me you haven't done it, that is all I need to know,” she said firmly.

“Of course, I haven't. Christine, please.”

Miss Fisher was surprised. She hadn't anticipated to ever hear Samuel Cox-Stafford beg. After a moment of silence, a small smile appeared on the pretty features of the young woman and she grasped the boy's hand.

“I believe you. But you should tell them. Tell them everything.”

“There is nothing to be told,” he insisted stoically and the smile disappeared.

“I have better get on my way home. Father will wonder, why I am taking so long.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched and Miss Fisher ducked deeper behind the cart, smiling to herself. Plenty of secrets to be had in Jack's family. And she had just discovered another one.

 


	31. Golden Chain

“So, what is all this about, Jack?” Fred Simmens-Cox-Stafford asked his wives cousins, after they had settled in the library.

“How well did you know Miss Spencer?” The Inspector asked calmly. There was not a twitch in the other man's face. Just a small smile, that didn't look real.

“I told you already, she was Walter's assistant, I didn't know her well at all.”

“I know what you told me,” Jack said, rubbing his hands together to warm them. Clouds had started to cover the sky an hour ago and the effect the grey haze had on the world was astonishing.

“But the thing is, Fred, I don't believe you. You are hiding and burning letters and there is money disappearing from your accounts, which you decide to cover up rather than confront your workers about. What is going on?”

Fred stared at his hands and stayed silent.

“She was blackmailing you, wasn't she?” Jack asked. “Did you have an affair?”

Finally, Fred looked up, sweat had appeared on his forehead.

“Absolutely not! I am married! And I really had not the slightest interest in Miss Spencer.”

Jack nodded, looking serious.

“So, what had she found out about you that your wife wasn't allowed to know?”

“I'll admit that she was blackmailing me, Jack. Does it have to go any further?”

There was pleading in Fred's eyes and the Inspector felt sorry for him. But he couldn't leave it at this, as much as he wanted to.

“I'm sorry, Fred, but this is a murder investigation.”

His cousin's husband nodded, straightening his shoulders.

“I was with intelligence during the War,” he finally said quietly. “As a spy in Germany.”

The Inspector swallowed. He had to admit that the mousy Fred Simmens was probably about the last man on earth he would have expected to be a spy. Which was probably the point really. He cleared his throat.

“And do I go right in the assumption, that Laura doesn't know this?”

Something happened to Fred, Jack found. The quiet but calm exterior broke when his wife was mentioned and made room for deep unhappiness that he had seen mirrored on Laura's face earlier.

“She will leave me the moment she finds out,” Fred croaked. “Laura is a normal, nice woman and she wants a normal, nice life. I'm trying to give her that. Please don't destroy this, I beg of you.”

Jack nodded slowly, wondering if he should point out that Laura had always been the first hanging in every tree, when they had been little.

“Don't you think you should tell her?” he prodded gently, remembering his own struggle with sharing the dark secrets of War with Phryne. “You cannot hide yourself away forever.”

Fred pulled himself to his feet, pacing the room.

“You don't understand. I am not proud of my past, but I have Laura now and our little son,” he smiled. “I'm trying to do right by her, but she would despise me, if she knew.”

“Knew what?”

The cold, angry voice belonged to Laura, who stood in the door like a nemesis. The effect was spoiled somewhat by the toddler on her arms, happily stretching out his hands for his father.

“I will leave you to it,” Jack decided calmly, pulling himself to his feet and taking Fred junior from his cousin's unresisting arms. What was to be said in this room was not meant for toddlers.

While he carefully fumbled down the stairs, trying to look past the squirming child on his arms, Phryne caught up to him.

“Are you trying to tell me something, Inspector?” she asked, pointing at the boy.

“Yes, Miss Fisher. That I could really do with some help babysitting, while my cousin is sorting out her marriage,” he grinned, relieved, that this was now a joking matter.

“I don't do children,” she reminded him.

“So I've heard,” he squeezed out, finally arriving in the hall without any accidents.

“I gather Fred has not shot anyone then?” she asked happily, watching the Inspector struggle with a child that had entirely too many arms and legs.   
“I wouldn't vouch for 'anyone',” Jack stated, attempting to tickle the boy without dropping him, “but I'm currently inclined to think not Miss Spencer or Mrs. Barton.”

“And what makes you think that?” Phryne asked, to Jack's amazement releasing Fred junior from his arms and holding him like she had been nursing children all her life. He wondered for a moment if the relief from the pressure had taken the scariness of children away from her, when she swung the little boy on her arms, making him shriek with laughter. It was a beautiful picture and the Inspector decided to not think any deeper into the subject. He had more than he had ever dreamed of, certainly a lot more than he had dared to hope for - there was no point in grieving himself with things that weren't to be. Instead he would embrace the wonderful life that spread out in front of him without regrets. Even though, he thought, tickling little Fred's belly, while Miss Fisher watched on with fond eyes, maybe he should keep in touch with Laura and her family a little more in the future.

“Jack?” Phryne asked into his thoughts. He hummed in response.

“What makes you think, it wasn't Fred?” she asked.

“Because he loves his family,” Jack asked grinning. “And there is a reason it's called intelligence.”

Miss Fisher didn't understand a word, but she chose not to ask any further. She was sure, he would explain later on.

 

X

 

Mac coughed in the dust, inhaling half a spider web and coughing some more.

“You know, this is not quite what I expected of our romantic meeting,” she pointed out to her lover, who was fumbling her way through boxes.

“It wasn't meant to be romantic,” Hazel pointed out, opening another lid. “And I did warn you that it was an attic.”

“Thank you so much,” Mac quipped sarcastically, leaning over her lover's shoulder. Hazel hummed disappointedly.

“Dolls,” she said, pulling one with a formerly white dress out of the dusty remains of her childhood. “That one was Amanda's, I believe.”

“Of course you didn't play with dolls,” the doctor smiled, riffling through another box.

“Actually, I loved them,” Hazel admitted. “I think I was almost ten, before I stopped dragging poor Marie around with me. By the time she had cracks all through her face.”

With a triumphant scream she pulled the worn doll from the pile. Mac looked at 'poor Marie' for a moment. It was an ugly thing that had obviously suffered under the strain of being loved too much, for too long. But it was oddly touching, holding something in her hands that tied her to the girl Hazel had been before she had met her. She ran a gentle fingertips over the worn face. 

Her lover grinned, taking the ragged thing from Mac's hands and stuffing it back into the box.

“Then I lost interest in dolls, and haunted Uncle Walter to teach me gold-smithing.”

“I thought you only sold jewellery,” Mac asked, her interest piquing.

“Officially that is all I do,” Hazel answered, wiping a thick layer of dust from a working table with bare hands. “Since a woman can't do a job like that.” She rolled her eyes. “She needs to stand in the shop and look pretty and smile a lot.”

Elizabeth took her lover's hand pressing it gently and regretting the motion straight away, as dust was spread over her fingers. She wiped them on her pants, while Hazel looked at her with a sparkle in her eyes.

“But Mr. Norton has noticed that I do have some talent. He lets me do the filigree pieces that he hates. Of course only when nobody else is there.”

“So he takes the credit for your work?” Mac asked grumpily. The other woman shrugged.

“I get to do what I like. Look at this,” she said, opening a drawer in the working-bench. “There is still some tools in there.”

“Why has your Uncle given up on the gold-smithing?” Mac asked, trying to change the subject to something that didn't make her blood boil.

“Mostly because the mine ran out of gold,” Hazel laughed. “Well and really, I think it was just a small hobby. He doesn't like sitting down for a long time and staring at tiny pieces of metal.”

“In difference to you?” the doctor asked, inspecting the tools, while daring to run a warm hand along her lovers hip. A cough in their back interrupted them. The two women turned, worrying about the appearance. Mac drew a breath of relief when she saw who was standing in the door. Jane smiled at the two dusty women with a certain smugness. She was a keen observer.

“Aunt Esmeralda sends me up to call you for afternoon tea,” she said.

Hazel looked down on herself.

“Rather inconvenient timing,” she quipped.

“What are you two doing up here?” Jane asked, stepping closer with curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

“Hazel is showing me some tricks of her trade,” Mac stated calmly, ignoring the faint blush on her lover's cheeks. Jane looked at the work-bench, tipping her head.

“It's a gold-smithing work-bench,” Hazel explained. “I sell jewellery down in Melbourne for a living.”

“You sell or you make it?”

“Both!” Mac cut in, before her lover could dare to downplay her talents. Jane smiled, a sudden idea lighting up her face. Afternoon tea could wait.

 

X

 

“I can't put my finger on it, but something is off about his story,” Phryne pointed out.

Jack nodded, chewing on his lip. After they had handed little Fred over to his grandmother, they had withdrawn to a quiet little parlour in the back of the house, hoping to talk in peace about the developments of their case. Of course, that wouldn't work for long. But they had managed to work through their interview with the widower again.

“Why would his wife be taking out an insurance for a sum like that and not talk to her husband about it? That's nagging at me,” Jack opted.

“Only to be conveniently murdered the next day,” Phryne repeated earlier thoughts. “It's almost as if she staged her own death.”

“She is very much dead though, I have no doubt about that.”

Phryne thought briefly, but shook her head.

“And Miss Rucci is certain that it is Mrs. Barton and not her sister.”

“Do we trust her judgement?” Jack asked.

Phryne wanted to say 'yes', for unknown reasons. She just felt like Miss Rucci was the one genuine person in the whole drama about the siblings. She wondered something.

“If the sisters were actually your cousins, Jack, she might know something about your missing aunt.”

The Inspector rubbed a palm over his mouth and Miss Fisher wondered if she had made a mistake by reminding him, whose death he was investigating.

“Do you think this is the time to dig into family history?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“No time like the present,” she smiled. “It might accidentally shed some light onto the investigations, Jack. You never know. And we might find your father's long lost sister. She might appreciate some family after she has lost two daughters within a week.”

Jack nodded quietly. Their attempts to contact the victim's parents didn't have any success so far, supposedly they were travelling at the time. Mrs. Spencer would have the shock of her life time when she returned home. If John Robinson was really what she needed in a situation like that?

“You don't think my father is involved, do you?” he asked, all of the sudden.

Phryne looked up from studying the notes Hugh had left her to stare at him in confusion.

“Your father? Don't be silly, Jack. What would be his motive?”

Anxiously the Inspector rubbed his hands on his lap. Miss Fisher found the transformation almost funny. Detective-Inspector Robinson had briefly forgotten to be a policeman and was a worried son.

“I don't know, but he hasn't shared his involvement with Mrs. Barton. That makes him suspicious,” he pointed out quietly.

“It wasn't him,” Phryne said, about to share why she was absolutely certain about this, when the door flew open. Of course, talking in peace was impossible.

“Here you are hiding,” Aunt P. boomed, joining them uninvited. “I was just wondering about the date.”

The couple looked at her in confusion.

“When will you celebrate your wedding, Phryne? We do have a lot to prepare. You probably have no idea, how much work needs to be done for an occasion like this, you poor girl.”

Jack opened his mouth, willing to admit his defeat and probably draw forever the wrath of Phryne's aunt onto himself, but his lover was faster.

“I'm sorry to have to dash your hopes of being able to bring in your organisation talents, Aunt P, but the wedding is not going to happen.” She looked at Jack, who gulped. “Not here anyway, we are still going to get married, but back in Melbourne.”

Prudence Stanley looked appalled.

“And why would you be doing that? It is ridiculous that you had us all in the expectation of a wedding and then just change your mind, Phryne. That is really not very nice of you.”

She huffed and was about to get up, when Jack found his voice.

“Actually, Mrs. Stanley, we have not changed our minds,” he said, his voice calmer and steadier than he felt. “The Vicar flat out refused to wed us. That is the truth and there is nothing we can do about it than move on.”

Her mouth agape, Prudence sat back down.

“That is outrageous.”

“Sadly it isn't,” Miss Fisher sighed, “You know, that Jack would marry the second time and Vicar Bailey says his hands are tied.”

“Usually this kind of issues can be fixed,” Aunt P. pointed out.

“Not in this case, I'm afraid. The problem seems to be the bishop,” Phryne answered absent-mindedly, while worriedly watching Jack rub his face with both palms. She was starting to get annoyed with her aunt for picking at the subject when they had just managed to distract themselves from it. When she looked back up, her aunt had pulled herself to her feet and full height. It wasn't that much, but it was still impressive.

“We shall see about that,” she announced loudly. “I will ring the archbishop right now.”

Miss Fisher raised her eyebrows.

“Don't look at me like that, Phryne. I have known Bishop Ferguson since he was a little Vicar at St. George's. And God knows, he owes me a world of favours. I believe I single-handedly raised enough money to keep the church from falling down around him back in the day.”

Phryne wondered for a moment if to ask her aunt if she was really certain the Archbishop of Melbourne remembered her after all those years, but watching her march out of the room, she realised, that Prudence Stanley was really rather hard to forget.

“Did that just happen?” Jack asked after a beat. “Or am I dreaming?”

“If you start dreaming of Aunt P. I really would be worried,” Phryne smiled, grasping his hand. Despite not knowing the outcome of her aunt's call, her heart felt suddenly light. And when she turned to Jack, she saw the same hope reflected in his Irises. Maybe the situation wasn't as dire as Vicar Bailey had feared, after all.

 


	32. Bleeding Heart

Esmeralda was starting to grow impatient. Her nephew had decided to retreat with his fiancée for a quiet catch-up; obviously the case had to come first. Walter was still walking Hector, possibly having forgotten the time, while stumbling into a horde of deer out in the forest. Mrs. Stanley had asked to use the phone and disappeared ages ago. Her daughter and her son-in-law had gone for a walk, letting her know in no uncertain terms that her involvement was not needed. And Jane had not returned from her quest of retrieving Hazel and the Doctor from the attic, where the women were digging through the Cox-Stafford's history.

She absent-mindedly cuddled her little grandson on her lap and looked at Iris, who shrugged.

“It seems like we aren't getting any more company,” Rupert grinned.

“I was rather hoping to discuss the wedding with everybody,” Esmeralda pointed out. “Which is rather impossible if they don't show for afternoon tea.”

“Don't worry yourself about it,” Olivia pitched in. “I'm sure, Jack and Miss Fisher will figure out the details soon. It's understandable, that they are busy with the two murders in your house, don't you think?”

“I rather hope they solve them, before their wedding,” Iris added grinning. “I can just see Jack deciding to up and run from the ceremony, if it occurs to him who killed Miss Spencer.”

A small smile appeared on Esmeralda's face against her will.

“I believe Miss Fisher would be right behind him,” Will joked, his daughter looking at him with big eyes, obviously wondering about the conversation that was going over her head. 

“How romantic,” Sam grumbled. Some faces flew around to look at him. Esmeralda knew the expression on her son's face. He was upset and she currently didn't have a chance to ask him what was wrong. Not that she expected a honest answer. She sighed under her breath. It probably had to do with one of his many sweethearts. She wasn't sure, why he insisted on chasing after every skirt - it seemed as if he just did it for the fun of it. But if she was honest, it bothered her.

How could it be that her two children were so exactly opposite from each other? Laura insisted on settling into the most boring life possible, while Samuel couldn't be convinced to settle for anything.

Thinking of her daughter made Esmeralda's stomach churn. Laura had looked deeply upset before and so had Fred.

Just when her mother pondered this, the door flew open and both appeared in the room. Esmeralda found herself astounded at the change in her daughter. Laura was standing tall and proud; her hairdo had suffered a bit from the cold wind outside and her cheeks were glowing in a healthy red, which however gave her the look of a beautiful adventuress, rather than a dishevelled housewife. And there was a spark in her eyes that woke in Esmeralda the urge to drop onto her knees and thank the heavens for it. Her son-in-law looked less excited but exuded relief and a quiet happiness. The Mistress of the house got to her feet and handed over their son, resisting the want to pull them both into a hug, while she felt a weight lift off her heart. They had worked it out. Seconds later, Jack and Miss Fisher slipped through the door, obviously surprised that nobody had started eating yet, though they were late.

“I'm sorry,” Jack mumbled near his Aunt's ear and brushed a kiss to her cheek, something he hadn't done in about thirty years. Esmeralda watched gobsmacked, as they sat down. Then the threesome from the attic arrived. They were still a little dusty, but beaming. The Lady of the house started to feel confused. Had someone discovered a well of happiness somewhere on Wombat Hall's grounds? They might have wanted to share the location with Samuel, who stilled stared miserably into the group. Last Walter trod through the door. He seemed even grumpier than when he had left and his wife breathed a sigh of relief. She was not going crazy just yet.

“I apologise, my love. Hector was out of sorts today, barking at bushes and trees. When we got near the lodge he completely freaked out and I had to catch him.”

“Probably a stray deer,” Esmeralda smiled, grasping his hand and wondering just what had spoiled his mood so much. He had returned from the Vicarage with a disgruntled air to him that she wasn't used to in her decidedly happy husband and had chosen to go for a walk without letting her into the secret. She couldn't help but wonder if Jack had not gotten the answer he had desired. Marrying in the gardens was probably stretching Vicar Bailey's boundaries a little and the date was very rushed. But then, Jack didn't seem unhappy and neither did his fiancée. 

“How is your companion, Miss Fisher?” she asked politely, remembering the people still missing at the table.

“Feeling a little better I believe. Her husband is with her now. He is in for quite a shock,” Phryne laughed.

“We all had to get through it, Miss Fisher,” John said to general astonishment with a smile on his lips. “And we all ended up being proud fathers.”

Jack' eyebrows rose involuntarily while his eyes locked with Will's, who looked similarly confused. That was about the closest their father had ever come to stating pride at them. It came as a bit of a shock. John seemed slightly embarrassed, but he didn't retreat from his statement. Something was happening to him, Jack noted. Maybe it was just Phryne's magic. Or possibly Jane's, because the girl had once again found a place right beside her 'grumps'. Her eyes were beaming, the worry of earlier gone and Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Now if only Mrs. Stanley worked _her_ magic. When the elderly lady stepped through the door, he found he was holding his breath. She gave him something that was pretty close to a wink and Jack thought he would faint in a mixture of surprise and relief.

“Aunt P, I gather you were successful?” Phryne smiled, taking a sip of tea.

“Very much so. The Archbishop was only too happy to help out. Your marriage licence will be in the mail tomorrow morning. He has personally promised it.”

Esmeralda's eyes widened in shock.

“The Archbishop?”

Walter burst into laughter.

“You are gold, Mrs. Stanley, I must say. I am very happy to soon call such a resourceful woman part of my family.”

Esmeralda looked back and forth between her husband who was toasting the lady with his teacup and Mrs. Stanley, who somewhat reluctantly mirrored his gesture, while looking immensely proud of herself.

“Would you like to fill us in?” she asked pointedly.

“Vicar Bailey turned us down,” Jack explained calmly. “It seems Mrs. Stanley has managed to talk Archbishop Ferguson into overruling his verdict and his Bishop's.”

He shared a grateful look with Aunt P, for the first time in his life being deeply happy about her existence.

“And we will be forever in her debt for it,” chipped Phryne in, happily biting into a scone.

“So, when are you getting married?” Jane asked. Miss Fisher had to swallow, before she could answer. She smiled at her daughter.

“As soon as possible.”

She glanced at Jack, realising, that she hadn't asked his opinion before announcing this to his whole family. He gave her a tiny nod, paired with an even tinier smile. So it was set. They both completely missed the excited look that was shared between Jane and Hazel. 

 

X

 

Miss Rucci had just sat down for tea, when the car arrived. Glancing out the window, she watched Inspector Robinson and Miss Fisher climb out. It was a strange coincidence. Or maybe it wasn't. Her palms went sweaty at the idea. She pulled herself to her feet, opening the door just when the Inspector lifted his hand to knock. He looked thrown for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“I'm afraid Mr. Barton isn't in right now,” the Housekeeper explained calmly, before the police officer could say a word.

“Actually, we were looking for you,” the Inspector answered, a small smile on his lips. Miss Rucci stared at him in confusion, but let them past all the same. After she had poured them some tea, the Inspector looked at her, seemingly fumbling for words.

“This might seem an awful time, Miss Rucci, but I need to ask you if you ever heard the sisters mention a John Robinson?”

Miss Rucci's busy hands stopped in their task, looking at him in wonder.

“Or maybe their parents?”

“Not that I know of, Inspector,” the housekeeper answered calmly, slipping back onto the bench. “Why would they?”

Phryne sensed that things were hitting a little close to home for Jack. He wasn't comfortable bringing up his family life in an investigation.

“Mrs. Barton was on her way to meet him the morning she died,” she explained calmly. The old lady nodded slowly.

“They were in contact via letters for months beforehand. Abigail Barton claimed to be his niece.”

“What?”

Now Miss Rucci's eyes widened in shock.

“But that's impossible,” she pressed out, her hand fumbling with a tea cup. “The girl never said a word to me.”

“Miss Rucci, is the Christian name of the girl's mother Sophie by any chance?”

Now the old housekeeper looked up at the Inspector as if she had just woken from a nightmare. She shook her head eagerly.

“No, no, it isn't. Her name is Emma. Emma Spencer nee Devitt.”

Jack locked eyes with Phryne. She could see a mixture of emotions displayed in them. So they hadn't been his cousins after all. But there was also no aunt to be found. He was visibly deflated.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Rucci.”

“Before we leave, may we have a look into the private rooms of Mrs. Barton?” Miss Fisher asked, a friendly smile on her lips. Jack followed as the housekeeper lead them upstairs. Phryne was right of course. They should have searched her rooms days ago. His whole family drama was distracting him from his job and it was starting to annoy him. It didn't help that he felt like he had stumbled into a bad and rather deadly theatre production into which the director insisted on dragging Jack's family. He had somehow managed to find John Robinson's one weak spot to weave him into this web of secrets. But why on earth would Abigail play along in her own murder? It just didn't make any sense.

They were left alone in a bedroom that already started to feel unlived in. Miss Fisher had taken to the wardrobe, flicking through dresses.

“She didn't have terrible taste, quite in line with the dress she was wearing at Wombat Hall,” she concluded, throwing the door shut. Jack was only half listening while he riffled through the contents of Abigail Barton's drawers, trying to avoid thinking too hard about the fact that his hands were currently emerged into the silken underwear of a rather attractive woman whom he had not met, until her heart had already stopped beating. Luckily Phryne wasn't watching as she searched the bed for any hidden items. Usually she seemed rather lucky with that. Jack withdrew his hands with a sigh of relief, flicking the drawer shut and turning to the next one. It held a variety of keepsakes and pictures of Mrs. Barton and her sister, her wedding, her parents. Miss Rucci had been right, the woman who must be Emma Spencer showed no resemblance to anyone in his own family and it pushed the idea that she might have changed her identity somewhere along the way, further back in his mind. The girl's connection to his family had just been another fabrication of the killer, trying to throw them off his trail. Just when he came to this conclusion, Jack's hands stilled.

“Phryne!”

She was with him in three steps, dropping the pillow she had just held onto. He shoved a photograph into her hands.

“I know this picture. Father showed it to me when I was young. He told me they were my cousins, and with some luck I would get to know them someday.”

“Seems not very lucky,” Phryne quipped, staring at two fair headed girls sitting on a blanket.

“How is this possible?” Jack exclaimed, visibly angry. “They are my cousins, but their mother is not my aunt?” He sank onto the edge of the bed, hurling an attacking pillow against the head of the bed, then rubbed his face with both hands.

“Nothing in this case adds up, Phryne, nothing at all.” He sat for a moment, wondering. “Could the killer have planted the photograph here?”

Miss Fisher resurfaced from staring at the picture, then shook her head.

“No, that's Madelyn and Abigail, same nose, same eyes.”

The Inspector pulled himself back to his feet, snapping back into working mode.

“Emma Spencer must be my missing Aunt then, resemblance or not.”

“Why don't you take her picture and show it to your father?” Phryne wondered.

“A good plan, Miss Fisher.” Jack smiled and kissed his finacée on the cheek. At least someone kept their head in this whole mess. 

“I'm known for my excellent plans, Inspector,” she quipped, catching him and kissing him in a way that was probably not quite appropriate for the setting. Jack decided to leave quickly, before he remembered that there was a bed nearby.

 

X

 

Riya stared angrily at the picture in front of her. It was beautiful. Breathtaking even. She hated it. But something stopped her from letting it follow the last one, cracking its frame by hurling it at some hard object or another. Tobias had been right. The flaming sunset had wanted to be painted and now that it had, it woke in her the urge to burst into tears just looking at it.

The arrival of her maid tore her from her dark thoughts.

“Ma'am, a visitor for you,” she announced. Mrs. Santi felt her heartbeat speed up. It couldn't be that he had changed his mind, could it? But the person stepping through the door was taller and with a lot more hair.

“Good evening,” Admiral Winterbuttom exclaimed smiling. “I heard you are returning to India and was coming to say my farewells.”

Riya smiled, putting her paintbrush down.

“You have heard correctly, Admiral. Despite that, you didn't have to come, I do hate long goodbyes.”

“But it would be a sacrilege to not farewell a woman like you properly, Mrs. Santi,” the tall man said, pulling her hands to his lips. Riya let him, despite feeling a little odd. Almost as if she had stumbled onto stage in a theatre, when she was really supposed to sit in the audience. Over the Admiral's shoulder, she glanced at the flaming sunset her paintbrush had drawn from thin air. It seemed to have grown more realistic in the last two minutes. And it was trying to tell her something.

 

X

 

“This is not Sophie,” John stated quietly. “I don't know who this woman is, but it is definitely not my sister.”

The flames in the fireplace crackled happily, with no sense for the dramatic at all.

“But this is the picture of the girls, isn't it?” Jack asked, handing him the other photograph, “the one you used to show me?”

The old man nodded. Apart from his hands it was hard to say if he was moved by this whole story. But his hands were telling, Phryne found, as they moved aimlessly in his lap. Rather like Jack's.

“So they were not Sophie's daughters?” he asked, his voice suspiciously rough. The detective's looked at each other.

“To be honest, I have no idea, Father,” Jack admitted after a pause. “The picture you have must be 20 years old and it shows the two women who died. But the lady in their family pictures is not Aunt Sophie. Do you think...” he paused. “Is it possible, that Sophie has died and maybe her widower remarried?”

John chewed on his lip in thought; there was a traitorous tremble to his fingers now.

“When was this picture taken?” he asked. Phryne turned it to read the date on the back.

“August 1912,” she said.

The tension seemed to drain from John Robinson's shoulders.

“She still wrote to me then. Still told me stories of her family and her little girls.”

He shook his head.

“This is not my sister, Jack. That's all I know.”

“I might try and contact the registry of birth, death and marriage in Ballarat,” Jack finally stated, pulling himself to his feet. “Maybe they can shed some light on the whole situation.”

His father and fiancée both looked after him, when he left the room to use the phone. Then John's eyes returned to the picture that didn't show the person he had been hoping for.

“I'm sorry,” Phryne said after a while. His shoulder's flinched as if he had forgotten that she was still there.

“She's been gone for so long, you'd think it would stop hurting someday,” the old man finally said. When he looked up, there was a traitorous tear glittering. “But it never does.”

Miss Fisher found her own vision blurring.

“I know.” She wondered if to share this. They were not exactly on intimate terms, but then she could relate perfectly well to his troubles.

“My sister vanished when I was ten. I didn't get closure for many years, until we found her.”

John Robinson stared at her.

“Was she alive?” he finally asked. Phryne shook her head, staring out the window.

“I'm sorry,” John said and to Miss Fisher's shock a warm, rough hand wrapped over her fingers. It was awkward but not wrong and so she just let it happen.

“Thank God, Jack was there,” she said into the resulting silence. “He held onto me, when I thought I'd drown.”

She smiled a teary smile into the direction of her future father-in-law.

“Is that why you agreed to marry him, Miss Fisher?” John asked. His hand retreated, when they changed the subject, but there was no hostility. It felt more like curiosity really.

“I agreed, because I couldn't think of a single good reason to refuse,” she explained. “And that might not sound very romantic to your ears, Mr. Robinson, but it took meeting your son for me to not run screaming from the idea of matrimony.”

John Robinson smiled at this, staying silent.

“You will take very good care of him, won't you?” he finally asked, without looking at her.

“That goes without saying,” Phryne answered, wondering where that thought had come from.

“I have never managed it myself,” John uttered, clearing his throat loudly. Phryne tore her eyes from the dark clouds outside to look at the old man.

“He has almost died three times,” John smiled and Miss Fisher supressed the urge to tell him about the other times that he didn't know about. “And I have never been there to protect him.”

John stared at his hands, but something seemed to have opened the dams that usually kept him from talking and Miss Fisher was not about to stop him.

“He was shot when he was a young officer; I assume you know about that?”

Phryne only nodded. She had run her fingers over the scar on Jack's chest a hundred times.

“One inch, Miss Fisher, and I would have lost my son. And I was sitting on my sofa at home, enjoying my evening off with my wife.”

Phryne opened her mouth to find some soothing words. Obviously blaming themselves was in the Robinson's blood too. But her conversation partner was too absorbed in his memories to pay any attention to her.

“My doctor forbid me to enlist for the War; said I was too old and the chance that my heart would give out was too great. So I sent my sons into hell on their own. I should have been there! I should have taken that knife.”

John finally looked up at her, his eyes translucent in the dim light.

“Fatherly love does not stop people from being hurt,” Phryne said, grabbing the old man's hand in a return of his earlier gesture. “If it did, there would be a lot less death in the world.”

John looked at her for a long moment, then he gently retrieved his hand from her's, straightening his shoulders as if struggling for his composure. He had no idea why he told Miss Fisher all this. He hardly knew her at all. But the flood of words just wouldn't stop leaving his mouth and he surrendered, kept sharing what he'd never shared.

“When the Browning's captured him, I found out reading the papers. Sanderson didn't even bother to give me a call till the afternoon,” he said bitterly. Phryne dragged a surprised breath into her lungs. Truth be told, she hadn't thought of Jack's family that night in the slightest. All her thoughts had been circling around the DI who had been holding onto his life by a thin thread and the hot ball of anger in her stomach at the people who had turned the strong, brave man she knew into this bundle of pain.

“The night is quite a blur,” she admitted quietly, “George was at the hospital with me, I remember that. We were screaming at each other about what was to be done with the Brownings.”

To Miss Fisher's surprise the old man laughed bitterly.

“Even George Sanderson was there, when Jack needed him. Only his father opened the newspaper the next day and nearly suffered a heart attack.”

“My apologies,” Phryne said, chewing on her lip. “I was too distracted to even think this far.”

But John shook his head.

“Don't say that. You were there; you saved my son. I wasn't. So clearly you are much better at protecting Jack. And truth be told, Miss Fisher, I fear, I am rather terrible at the whole father-thing.”

They shared a shaky smile with each other.

“I think you could do with some improvement,” Phryne pointed out carefully. “But it's never too late to work on your skills.”

John didn't get to answer, as the door flew open and the Inspector was back, exuding annoyance.

“Mr. Spencer was married for the first and only time to his wife Emma, who gave birth to all three of his children, James, Madelyn and Abigail. We are back to where we started.”

“Oh, I think we definitely cleared some things up,” Miss Fisher said, smiling, without tearing her eyes from John's, who was grinning. Jack looked back and forth between the both of them with the distinct feeling that he had missed something.

 


	33. Carrots

“Yes, Cec. The day after tomorrow. So, how did you go at the salon?”

Miss Fisher listened.

“That's just wonderful. You're such a clever boy. Now, when will you arrive? Don't forget to bring your wife and Bert. Yes, and Ryan. Of course, he can bring a date, it is a wedding after all. I would offer Bert to bring one too, but he will just stare at you like you had grown a second head.”

She smiled into the phone as Jack snuck up on her, gently nibbling her ear, while his arms snaked around her waist. Phryne closed her eyes, trying her hardest to listen to the cabbies happy chattering.

“Perfect, Cec. Did you find the dress Dot wanted? Yes, the yellow one. You better make yourself a list, I'm afraid.”

She turned in the Inspector's arms, running her finger's through his hair, while finishing her conversation with half an ear.

“Working hard, are you, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked grinning, after she had rung off.

“Organising a wedding is rather annoying,” she admitted. “I am somewhat envious of the brides who indulge in picking flower-arrangements and table decorations.”

“And there I thought you would at least rush to Melbourne to get a dress fitted,” Jack mumbled, returning to nibbling on her neck. Phryne lifted her chin to grant him better access and sounded somewhat breathless, when she continued talking, “I'm afraid, that is completely unnecessary, Inspector. I have already discussed the wedding dress at lengths with Madame Fleuri and she is currently having it done exactly to my wishes.”

The last word turned into a moan as the Inspector intensified his attentions to her tender skin.   
“You are a very resourceful woman, Miss Fisher,” Jack murmured into her neck, while a hand slipped into the back of her dress. Phryne found herself unable to answer.

“Jack,” she finally gasped.

“Phryne?” he hummed, without moving his lips from her, causing her skin to vibrate. Goosebumps were forming on her arms while her fingers wove through his hair.

“I believe we should head upstairs, they might be back soon,” Phryne pointed out without opening her eyes. To her disappointment, Jack resurfaced, tipping his head. Then he pulled her body snug against his.

“I think you are completely right,” he whispered, before closing her mouth with a kiss. Phryne felt her knees weaken and her body melting into his. She really needed to get upstairs, before she lost her head and did unspeakable things to him in the hallway with Jane and Aunt P. returning from Wombat Hall at any moment and Hugh bringing Dot back from a walk in the fresh air. When she opened her eyes, a knowing grin on Jack's face greeted her. He took her hand and she let him lead her upstairs like a new bride, scared of her wedding night. She would be his bride soon, she realised with a start. Of course, she was trembling with anticipation rather than anguish when it came to spending the night with Jack. But when he laid her down on the bed, starting to unwrap her like a precious gift, the reality of their adventure hit her. In two days they would actually be husband and wife. Phryne wasn't sure if the butterflies in her stomach were caused by the knowledge that she would very soon wear Jack's ring on her finger or by the Inspector's exploring mouth on herself. She leaned back, letting her eyes fall shut and the world melt away. She was safe in his hands, inside and outside of bed.

 

X

 

 

Phryne awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of a cricket singing in front of the open window. She found Jack lying on his side, looking at her with soft eyes. When he noticed her stirring, he reached out a hand, running it over her naked arm.

“Are you cold?” he whispered.

“A little,” Phryne admitted, allowing him to pull the warm sheets over her exposed skin.

For a long moment they were just lying in the darkness, looking at each other.

“It's like a dream,” Jack finally whispered. “I expect every day to wake up.”

It was the truth, but it sounded silly, even here in the deep of the night. He held his breath while he waited for her reaction. Phryne took his hand, tenderly pressing her lips to his wrist, where his warm blood was pulsing under his skin, then snuggled her cheek into his palm.

“I am not going anywhere, Jack.”

The only answer she got was a tiny nod and his second hand reaching for hers, intertwining their fingers. His eyes fell shut on their own accord, while he lay still under the warm sheets, listening to Phryne's breathing.

“Are you worried about marrying while we still haven't solved the case?” she asked, when he had almost drifted off, causing his lashes to flutter open.

“There will always be some murderer running around, Miss Fisher. I don't think we can wait until we have caught them all.”

Phryne smiled in the darkness.

“It is all rather confusing though,” she admitted after a pause. “Like we are turning around in circles.”

Jack sighed. He was sure that was exactly what the killer wanted them to do.

“So, what do you propose, Miss Fisher?”

He watched her chew on her lip in thought, while a soft wind made the curtains flutter.

“We could try bringing all our suspects into one room, confront them with the facts and see how they react. Play a little game of our own.”

Jack grinned.

“You have been reading too many novels, Miss Fisher.”

She didn't protest that, but instead snuggled against him, going back to sleep.

 

X

 

Riya was woken by an annoying amount of sunlight flooding the room. She had forgotten to close the curtains, when she had headed to bed after painting in the moonlight into the early hours. She ached all over and her mood wasn't brightened by the view that greeted her after her eyes had adapted to the bright light. The sunset was mocking her from its canvas and she was in a good mood to just pour a jar of black paint over it.

Inga arrived, not knocking this time, which threw her Mistress somewhat. The girl hardly ever did what she was told, which was one of the reasons she kept her around.

“The tickets have just arrived with the mail, Ma'am,” she said, handing the envelope over. Mrs. Santi's stomach did a lurch somewhere between pain and relief. She couldn't wait to leave Australia behind by now, but then that was it, wasn't it? Maybe she still waited on her knight in shining armour to show? How silly of her.

“And this, Ma'am.”

It was a letter and again, her stomach flipped. It needed to stop doing this, unless she wanted to lose her breakfast before she even had had any. Riya turned the envelope a few times in her hands. It wasn't Tobias's hand on the expensive paper and she almost wanted to lie it down and go back to sleep, when she changed her mind and instead ripped it open.

Her eyes flew over the single card it held.

“What is it?” Inga asked, trying to get a glance. Her Mistress looked up at her.

“It's a wedding invitation.”

Inga didn't ask just why this announcement sounded like Mrs. Santi had been asked to attend her own funeral.

 

X

 

Mr. Butler chopped carrots in silence. Of course, in a kitchen like Maria's, it was never really quiet. Meat sizzled, a kettle boiled, the knife danced with a dull sound over the wooden board, leaving the bleeding carrot rings to roll over the table.

He missed the look the cook gave him from where she was pondering the wedding meal for tomorrow.

“Tea?” she asked finally.

Mr. Butler found a cup being shoved into his free hand, before he had a chance to answer. Which was a shame, since he really had meant to refuse. That would have been rather rude in the current situation though and he took a careful sip of the Darjeeling that was a blunt and strong as Maria.

“You don't seem very happy, Mr. B,” the cook went on conversationally, while she prepared her own cup. “Has it got to do with the wedding?”

Tobias forced himself to smile.

“Why ever would you think that? I am very happy for Miss Fisher and the Inspector.”

“What a shame that your face is calling you a liar.”

He looked up at the big, rough face of Maria Edinburg and sighed, lowering his knife in surrender.

“Their timing might be a little inconvenient,” he admitted, returning his attentions to the carrots.

“Because your sweetheart left you?”

With a curse he wished nobody had heard, Mr. Butler sucked on his bleeding thumb. Maria smiled.

So she had hit the nail on the head - or the thumb rather.

“Let me have a look,” she offered. It was a tiny cut, hardly worth worrying about and she handed him a towel to help stop the bleeding.

“It would be more accurate to say that I left her,” she heard Tobias Butler say.

“Might be better, in the long run,” Maria pointed out, as she turned her attention back to figuring out the filling for the wedding cake. The bride had insisted on including raspberries in it, which would be a little bit of a challenge. Tobias frowned. Maria had a point of course.

“Then again,” the cook looked up with a smile, “it is rather stupid of you, to quit before you know, _if_ that is indeed better.”

Tobias grumbled something in return, getting his hands back into the job of massacring innocent root vegetable.

 

X

 

 

A form of anxious excitement that only wedding preparations can cause was haunting the walls of Wombat Hall. Hazel, Mac and Jane had vanished some time ago, but nobody had time to miss them. Aunt Prudence was attempting for the fifth time to talk her niece into moving the ceremony further down into another pretty part of the garden, finding herself confronted with the bride's stubborn nature, also for the fifth time. Olivia Morgan was busy collecting the pieces for the table setting together in the mountain of clutter spread over many a dusty storage area of Wombat Hall. When she reached the attic, three pairs of eyes flew up staring at her in shock, then gesturing her to close the door quickly.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“We, mother dear, are preparing at wedding gift,” Hazel smiled, without looking up from her work.

Olivia squinted, trying to figure out, what exactly the gift consisted of.

“Oh,” she said. “Do they know?”

“That would rather spoil the surprise, wouldn't it?” Hazel murmured, handing the piece back to Jane and gently guiding her fingers as she continued working.

Her mother smiled to herself, as she pulled the door shut. Something was happening with her daughter and while she had not the faintest idea what it was, it was nice to see her genuinely happy for once, rather than hiding behind her sarcasm. With a little melody on her lips Olivia skipped down the stairs, before she realised that she had actually meant to look for a candle-holder.

The morning went by with busy excitement and by lunchtime Phryne felt rather exhausted. She envied the Inspector who had politely retreated to the station to set her plan into motion and invite their suspects around for the afternoon. Uncle Walter had not been particularly pleased with the idea of having both Crossley and Barton in his house, but Jack had insisted that the intimate setting was necessary to catch them off guard and in the end the master of Wombat hall had given his nephew a free hand.

As Phryne wondered, if this really was an idea that could work in real life as well as in literature, she spotted Dot walking towards her. Her companion insisted that she was feeling better, but she still appeared a little green around the nose, and her Mistress wondered if she just couldn't resist helping with the wedding planning. 

“Did you pick any flowers for your bouquet yet?” the maid asked, her voice glowing with bliss.

“I haven't got the slightest idea, Dot,” Phryne sighed. Whenever she sorted one problem, the next one seemed to appear. It was indeed fortunate, she reflected grimly, that she only would have to endure this tedious process once. 

“Would you like me to?” Dorothy asked and Miss Fisher looked at her with a surprised smile.

“Would you mind, Dot?”

“Of course, Miss. I think I might be still pondering about _my_ wedding flowers if you hadn't made a call back then,” she grinned. Miss Fisher laughed at this.

“I am glad that I decided on my dress weeks ago or I would probably end up bringing Madame Fleuri to tears today as well.”

“I'm truly sorry about the lead-up to my wedding, Miss. I completely lost my head.”

“As it is the unique right of the bride,” Phryne smiled, hugging the girl to her chest. “I am glad I won't have that much time.”

A faint choking noise disturbed the touching moment, as Dot struggled free and disappeared between the bushes. Miss Fisher hummed unhappily.

“We might have to get Mac to have a look at you. Not being able to keep any food down can't be healthy for you or your baby.”

“I'll be fine, Miss,” her companion insisted, returning from the hedges.

“No discussion, Dot, you are going to have a lie down now and I'll find Mac and Hugh.”

Dorothy Collins had been Miss Fisher's companion for too long to try and argue with her.

 

X

 

“Nausea is normal at this stage, but nevertheless we can't let you starve. Your pulse is a bit faster than it should be as well,” Mac said, letting go of Dot's wrist.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Hugh asked, grasping the freshly released hand of his wife, while he sat down at the edge of the sofa. Dot felt a little awkward, surrounded by half of Jack's family.

“There are some herbs that do have a soothing influence,” Mac stated calmly, watching with half an eye as Jack walked through the door, astounded at the collection of people and started whispering with Phryne.

“We do have a bit of herb garden,” Esmeralda announced from the back. “What are you looking for?”

“There are quite a few that might help. Lemon Balm and peppermint are the most commonly used,” the Doctor stated, packing her things away.

“Lemon Balm we have growing outside, but peppermint has the tendency to take over whole gardens, so we avoided this,” the Lady of the house explained. “But there is plenty of it growing wild in the forest along the creek. I could go and fetch some if it helps our poor Mrs. Collins to get through the day.”

“I'll come,” Jane announced, worried about her friend.

A knock at the door caused the group of people to turn. The entering housekeeper found herself being stared at by 20 eyes of all colours and ages. She straightened her back. 

“I'm sorry to interrupt Ma'am, but Maria would like to discuss the wedding meal with you.”

“Thank you Mrs. Roman, I completely forgot about this.”

Helplessly Esmeralda looked around.

“Don't worry, I'll find the creek, how hard can it be?” Jane smiled.

“Quite hard actually, there is a bit of forest out there,” Walter smiled. “I would accompany you, but sadly,” he looked at his watch, “the Vicar is waiting on me talk through the ceremony. And probably rip my head of for the lecture he has gotten from his Bishop,” he grinned.

“I'll take you,” Jack offered. “It's been a few years, but I spent half my childhood in that forest,” he added grinning. Miss Fisher briefly considered pointing out that their suspects would be arriving in less than an hour, but then she saw the look being traded between Jack and Jane and didn't have the heart. When his eyes sought out hers they told her that he was well aware of the facts. But he couldn't let this chance go by unused. Time was running out on him to bond with Jane before she was officially his foster daughter. Phryne nodded. If all else failed, she could handle a room of murder-suspects on her own. Jack grasped her hand and pressed it in a quick gesture of gratitude on walking past.

After they had left, Walter Cox-Stafford pulled himself to his feet.

“I better get on my way as well,” he stated.

“Would you mind, if I walk a few metres with you?” John asked, also getting up. “I would like to discuss something with you.”

Walter looked disconcerted for a moment, but there was a twinkle in his brother-in-law's eyes that told him that the man was planning something. It might be safer for everyone involved to hear him out.


	34. Peppermint

It was quarter to three, when the first guests arrived, but there was still no sign of the Inspector. Phryne might have been relieved, had she known that Jack had indeed gotten himself and Jane a little lost in the forest, before they had finally discovered the small creek gurgling through patches of moss. It had been quite a few years since he had been a regular visitor of the old trees. But as things stood, the lady-detective paced the room anxiously, while Crossley found himself a chair in the far end of the library, obviously trying to blend into the wallpaper. The next one to appear was Fred, a new bounce in his step and somehow looking less boring, Phryne had noticed in the morning. Right now, she didn't notice or care. Next Sam snuck into the room, freezing for a moment, when he spotted Christine Allister sitting with a confused expression beside the cold fireplace. After some hesitation, he sat down, turning towards her but at a safe distance. Laura came through the door, together with Iris, who had chosen to follow the spectacle, even though she was sure, she would not be called as a suspect. Mrs. Simmens sat down beside her husband, loosely grasping his hand in a gesture that seemed familiar to Phryne. She smiled inwardly at the thought of the magic a shared secret could work on a relationship. Miss Rucci appeared moments later, finding herself a chair beside Charles Crossley. She looked pale and as if she hadn't slept in days. A woman in mourning and Phryne's heart went out to her. She truly suffered and the detective felt a little sorry to do put her through this. But the game had to continue. They had to beat the killer on his own playground. Phryne glanced at her watch. Still no Jack. Mr. Butler slipped through the door, without drawing any attention to himself.

“Did they get here alright?” Miss Fisher asked him quietly. Her servant nodded.

“Mr. Bert asked me to give this to you.”

Phryne took the folded up piece of paper from her butler's hand and quickly swept her eyes over it. So it was exactly as she had expected. She smiled.

John Robinson returned from his trip down to Daylesford, with a satisfied grin on his face and took the last empty chair. But one person was still missing, Miss Fisher realised.

“Has anyone seen Mr. Barton arrive?” she asked.

Shrugging and murmuring was the only answer she got. Fantastic, Phryne huffed silently to herself. So she would have to do this without her Inspector or the widower. But it might still shed some light on the case. On the other hand, she also might be able to get away with waiting. The clock stroke three, while she thought this and she noticed Sam squirming unhappily in his seat.

“Are you going to do this now, Miss Fisher? I would rather read a book than join in this charade,” he said pointedly. More disgruntled murmuring followed and Phryne realised that she could indeed _not_ get away with waiting. She silently cursed Jack for disappearing in this and took a deep breath.

“Ladies and Gentleman, thank you all for joining me today,” she smiled.

“I would rather like to know, why we are here,” Mr. Crossley threw in, startling Miss Rucci.

“I will enlighten you in a moment, Mr. Crossley. The Inspector called you all here today, because you were all at one point suspects in this incredibly mysterious case.” Phryne intoned, deciding to do this properly. She smiled dangerously, when she heard Walter's former Employee huff under his breath.

“Actually, why don't we start with you, Mr. Crossley. You claim to have been in Ballarat the morning Miss Spencer died. But there is no prove for that. You didn't meet your clients till hours later. And it is common knowledge that you didn't like each other much. She also found out that you helped yourself from the business accounts, didn't she? Maybe even shared this with her sister?”

Mr. Crossley had started to sweat profoundly, while murmuring picked up around him.

“My son. I...,” he stared at his hands. “I made a mistake Miss Fisher, but I have absolutely not killed Miss Spencer. Why would I do that? Surely a few dollars aren't worth killing for and that's all I ever took.”

His eyes pleaded with the detective and she gave him a slight nod.

“I believe you, Mr. Crossley. Do you know why? Because you were worried enough of being discovered to cause you to sneak through Wombat Hall during a storm. Your wet shoes proved that you were outside that night and there is only one explanation for you scrambling to cover up your betrayal. You didn't know that Miss Spencer was going to die.”

The man breathed a visible sigh of relief and sank back into his chair.

“Which brings me to our next suspect, Mr. Fred Simmens-Cox-Stafford.”

Fred had been whispering with his wife. Now he looked worried.

“There was quite a bit of evidence pointing towards you. You tried to get rid of a letter of blackmail, written by Miss Spencer and for a while, we actually believed you'd had an affair with the deceased. An act of jealousy perhaps? Or as simple as fear of discovery?”

Miss Fisher watched Iris Walker's eyes widened in shock and smiled.

“As it turned out, we were wrong. Miss Spencer had found out something else that you didn't want to share with your wife. But, luckily you were clever enough to do it by now and so I will not go too deep into the subject.”

At this, Fred threw her a grateful smile.

“And while you had plenty of motive to get rid of Miss Spencer and possibly her sister and confidante, Inspector Robinson believes you too intelligent to not realise that we would look at your background as soon as something like this happens. And I am tempted to agree with him.”

She smiled.

“It wasn't you either. Which throws the suspicion onto your wife.”

The relieved smile on Laura's lips evaporated.

“Me?”

“You knew your husband was hiding something from you and you knew it had something to do with Miss Spencer. I even believe you were convinced of the affair. So yes, you had a motive.”

Miss Fisher took another turn on the Persian, feeling the prickling of many eyes glued to her every move. This form of conclusion in a case was quite exciting. If only it would finally click in her brain, before she ran out of suspects.

“But, Miss Spencer's body has been dragged down a very steep stairway out of Wombat Hall and then through the bushes before it disappeared. I cannot imagine that one rather petite woman would be able to do that by herself.”

“So it wasn't me?” Laura breathed, drawing a few small giggles from people. Miss Fisher grinned and shook her head.

“I rather hope you would remember if it had been you,” Sam threw in, grinning.

“Yes, so do I,” Phryne said pointedly, snapping back into her detective mode. “But since we are focusing on you, Samuel, you were the next one on our list. Because someone burned this...” she paused to clear her throat, “...rather erotic letter that I am convinced was written by Miss Spencer. You _did_ have an affair with her, didn't you?”

With some satisfaction Phryne noted Samuel Cox-Stafford's eyes darting sidewards.

“And she was also one of the reasons you came up here a week early. You spent your nights with her.”

Now both Laura and Iris gaped openly at the young man, who blushed furiously.

“But I believe you were spending your days with someone else. She was also the reason, you scrambled to get rid of the evidence as fast as possible, when Miss Spencer died. Someone that you are actually in love with, aren't you, Sam?”

Miss Fisher looked at Christine, who stared at her in shock, then at Samuel.

“Perhaps it is the time to stop being a coward and tell her how you feel,” Phryne smiled, watching the boy trying to retreat into the sofa cushions. “Because you really have nothing to lose at this stage. Oh, and by the way, I don't think you murdered Miss Spencer either. You didn't care enough about her to do so.”

Phryne stopped, wondering if she dared to go on. This would be so much easier, if Jack was here. But expectant eyes still followed her as she turned on her heels, looking at her future Father-in-law.

“Which brings me to you, Mr. Robinson.”

John's stared at her in astonishment.

“It couldn't have been me. I was with you, when Mrs. Barton died,” he pointed out. Miss Fisher nodded.

“Very true. But while we are all so cosy here together, we might as well bring all the secrets out into the open, don't you agree? You knew Mrs. Barton, before you ever came to this family gathering. In fact you believed her to be your niece and agreed to meet her here at Wombat Hall the very morning she died. Hadn't you been with me that morning, I'm sure you would have ended up on that list of suspects.”

Miss Fisher smiled sharkishly, noting a faint glitter in the former policeman's eyes. He was actually enjoying this.

“Go on,” he prompted.

“But it turned out, that Sophie couldn't have been the mother of Madelyn and Abigail Spencer. So we assumed for a while, that Mrs. Barton was lying to you when she wrote the letters. But she wasn't. She truly was the girl in the photograph. It was Sophie, who was lying.”

John stared at her in equal amounts of confusion and intrigue.

“You see, I thought it was odd that a mother would only send a picture of her daughters, when she had in fact three children. Miss Spencer and Mrs. Barton have an older brother, James. But the reason for this is, that the person sending you those pictures, didn't know James all that well. Because she only joined the Spencer family when the girls were born. As their nurse. Isn't that right, Miss _Sophia_ Rucci?”

The old woman gulped, unmoving, while John's eyes followed Phryne's to the corner where his sister was sitting.

“Your elopement fell through, didn't it? You might still have travelled the world, I rather think you did, because my assistants,” she shook the piece of paper Mr. Butler had brought her, “have found, that Sophia Rucci didn't exist in Australia until 1910, the year Sophie Robinson wrote her family that she had returned from Italy. You had simply changed your name and fabricated a happy story so your family wouldn't pity you.”

Miss Rucci stared at her hands.

“I'm sorry, John,” she said after a long moment of speechless silence.

“Dear God, Sophie.”

In a room full of people, a teary-eyed John Robinson threw himself in front of the woman and embraced her tightly. Miss Rucci allowed herself to hug him back only after a moment of hesitance.

“I'm sorry,” she repeated, “I was ashamed of myself.”

“You silly girl,” John stammered, wiping a white lock from his sister's face. “I've been waiting all those years for you to reappear and you are just around the corner.”

Sophia Rucci cupped her brother's face, looking at him.

“You've grown old,” she said with a faint grin.

“And you are as charming as ever,” he quipped, “but I hate to say it, so have you.”

After the group had watched the siblings celebrate their reunion for a heart warming minute, Mr. Crossley found the courage to ask, what was on everybody's mind.

“So, who was it, Miss Fisher?”

Phryne looked up from watching her future-father-in-law kneeling on the floor with a fuzzy feeling in her stomach, to the harsh reality of her case. She still had no idea.

“You pointed out everybody that didn't kill Miss Spencer now,” Charles Crossley reminded her. “So, who did it?”

Miss Fisher stayed silent, looking into the round. Something tried to knock at the door of her concience, a thought that wanted to be let in urgently.

“You don't know, do you?” Sam called in, laughing. “So nobody killed Miss Spencer?”

The thought entered, stood in the room and spoke loud and clear.

“How could I have been so utterly stupid?” Miss Fisher exclaimed, turning and running through the door before the rest of the group had even noticed her change of mood.

“Excuse me, Sophie” John pressed out, scrambling to his feet and chasing after her.

 

X

 

“I don't think they will need quite this much for a cup of tea,” Jack laughed, while Jane tried to juggle an armful of aromatic mint leaves.

“We can dry it and take some back to Melbourne,” his daughter explained. “Dot's pregnancy is bound to last a few months.”

“I believe that is usually how it works.”

Jack watched the sun fall through the treetops, drawing small flecks of light onto the ground. A bird was singing somewhere into the silence of nothing but old trees whispering. It was beautiful and peaceful, a sharp contrast to the prenuptial hectic in Wombat Hall.

“Are you looking forward to the wedding,” Jane asked.

“No. Yes. I'm looking forward to being married to Phryne. The wedding itself is probably going to cause a great deal of stress, trying to make everybody happy. My first one was like that. All pretend smiles and sitting still and listening to boring speeches.”

He noticed to late that it was probably inappropriate to share things like that with the daughter of your second wife. His worry seemed to be confirmed when Jane stayed quiet for a long moment, while they walked along the creek.

“I can't imagine boring speeches from your family,” the girl finally grinned, a branch cracking under her feet.

“True,” Jack grinned back. “My family tends to prefer annoyance to boredom.”

“It's strange. Suddenly having so much family,” Jane pointed out. “But I don't mind it. I have aunts now all of a sudden and a cousin and a grumps.”

Jack laughed.

“Does he know you have decided to call him that?”

“Yes.”

“If he hasn't strangled you after that, he must be really fond of you,” Jack smiled, daring to put an arm around his daughter, while he fought back the guilt about leaving Phryne alone with her circle of suspects. Surely, Miss Fisher could handle it. He just couldn't bring himself to abort this little trip to hurry back to the Hall and be an Inspector, if he could also be a father. He listened to Jane telling him a story about her actual mother, while they got back onto the path, getting near Uncle Walter's hunting lodge. Suddenly Jack stopped. Something had caught his eye. It was more the idea of something really.

“Jane, stay here please,” he urged, going serious. “I need to have a look.”

The girl nodded. She had learned one thing a long time ago: when Miss Fisher or the Inspector asked you to do something in this tone of voice, you did it without arguing. Hiding behind a tree, she watched the Inspector draw closer to the lodge.

Jack Robinson felt his heart pound in his ears. Maybe he was imagining things. But there had been some movement behind the windows and since his Uncle was down in Daylesford speaking with the Vicar that could really only mean that someone had broken in. And he had suddenly a pretty clear idea of who that someone might be. He snuck closer to a window, covering his eye from the sunlight to spy into the darkness. The clicking of a safety being taken off, made him freeze.

“You figured it out,” a deep voice said behind him. Jack slowly turned. “Took you long enough, Inspector,” Joseph Barton boomed, his gun casually aimed at the Inspector's chest. Jack swallowed hard.

“It was quite clever of you,” he admitted, “giving yourself a watertight alibi this way. And you both did everything you could to drag my family into it. Oh, and the cigarette case was very smart.”

Joseph Barton grinned.

“A double twist you might say,” he smiled. “Who would ever believe, I would frame myself for a murder?”

Jack's brows flickered. “True. Even though I don't think you killed your wife. You were in Sydney after all.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jane sneaking closer, a look of terror on her face. He knew that expression from Phryne. She was plotting something and Jack's heart sped up at the thought that she might do something silly and throw herself onto an armed man three times her size.

“You do know,” he said casually, returning his attention to the man in front of him, “that shooting a police officer will get you hanged faster than you can say 'murder'.”

“That is where you are wrong, Inspector.” Joseph Barton said nonchalantly. “You see, I have no intention of shooting you. Even though I will, if you give me a reason, just so we are clear. But if you behave, I will just make sure that you are unable to talk before I am lying in the sun somewhere on the other side of the world.”

“So you are just going to lock me up?” Jack said, a little louder than was strictly necessary for a conversation. “You do know that I am to marry _Phryne_ tomorrow?”

He dared to glance behind the man's shoulder, reading Jane's face.

“I'm sorry to say, but I really don't care about sentimentalities like that.”

Jack breathed a sigh of relief, when his daughter retreated.

“That is a shame,” he said. “I was actually looking forward to my wedding.”

He was, he realised. Even if it was to be dry cake and boring speeches again, which with Miss Fisher around was unlikely. He wished right now, he could sit beside her, hold her hand under the tablecloth and listen to Uncle Walter making hunting puns. It was a much more pleasant prospect than staring down the barrel of a killer's gun. He forced himself to breath slowly. He would be alright, Jane would go and fetch Phryne and her gun and they would get him out of here, hopefully before Barton and his accomplice lost their cool and did something silly.

A branch cracked somewhere under a pair of teenager's feet. Bartons eye's flew around and with terror Jack stared at the exposed back of his retreating foster-daughter. A perfect target for a crazy gunman with little to loose. He sensed the start of the movement more than he saw it. But this, he swore himself this very moment, would not happen. With pure desperation flooding every single vein, Jack Robinson threw himself at Barton, before he had time to aim the barrel at another target.

 

X

 

Miss Fisher reached the edge of the forest by the time John Robinson caught up to her. His lungs were stinging and he was quite sure that his doctor would have had something to say about this sort of exercise, but something about her told him, that the situation was dire and no time to be lost.

“Miss Fisher,” he panted, bending over. “Where are you heading?”

Phryne didn't slow down.

“The lodge, were is it?” she called out. John managed to set his legs back in motion. He really was too old for this.

“Down that path,” he gasped, “I'll be right behind you.”

She sped up and he had to push himself to the limit to keep pace with her. John didn't have enough air in his lungs to talk but even if he had, he hadn't dared ask the question that was written all over his mind. Whether she feared that Jack and Jane were in danger. But then again, why else would she race through the forest like a marathon-runner? A small figure appeared between the bushed, chasing towards them. His heart did a relieved lurch, when he spotted who it was, instantly skipping into terror, when he saw her expression. She came to a screeching halt in front of her mother, who had stopped to catch her in her arms.

“Jane, where is Jack?”

“The killer's got him, he's got a gun,” the girl wailed.

“Where?”

“At the lodge!”

Phryne was running already again, while John was still taking this in. The pain however was gone, the fear for his son making his limbs feel numb, as they flew over the forest ground. He sensed Jane running beside him, while they slowly caught up to her mother. John pushed himself harder. He didn't want to think what would happen if he was too late.

 

X

 

The weapon had dropped to the floor unnoticed somewhere in the struggle between the two men. In a complete lack of cliche, it decided not to go off, but instead lay glittering in the moss, while the men above it fought for dominance in the wild entanglement of arms and occasionally legs. Jack had pure adrenaline on his side and was more used to restraining suspects, but then Barton was taller and stronger than him, and slowly the Inspector felt his muscles weaken. He thought of the wedding he would miss if he lost this fight, making a last desperate attempt to overwhelm the killer, when he literally felt his throat tighten. Somewhere in his fuzzy brain, Jack realised that Barton had grabbed his tie, obviously having resolved to strangle rather than shoot him. His fingers let go of the man's arms, desperately grabbing the suffocating piece of clothing, but with a grimace that looked almost like an insane grin, Barton tightened his grip. Jack was running short of breath, as he struggled to stay conscious. He could not die today! Not the day before he was to marry Phryne. He managed to kick the man against the shin, but to no avail. Gasping for air, he dug his nails into the man's wrists, before his head went light, the trees started to turn around him and then the world went black.

 

X

 

Phryne had always known that they lived dangerously. Death was on the cards in every single one of their cases, for both her and Jack. But she hadn't expected it. Not today of all days.

Of course, she had nightmares sometimes, when she would wake and snuggle against Jack's chest, listen to his calming heart beat reassuring her that he was alive.

In her dreams she always screamed, when it happened. In reality she didn't. In fact, when the lodge came into view and Jack's body was lying on the ground, with the killer still bent over him, she couldn't have screamed if she'd wanted to. She was sure, her heart stopped. The world stopped. Time. Stopped.


	35. Ginger Root

John saw Phryne stop in her tracks, and while he was still wondering what had happened, he sprinted past her and saw it with his own eyes. Jack, lifeless on the floor, Barton still bent over him, his son's tie in his hands, finishing the job. Where Miss Fisher couldn't scream, John could. His howl sent the birds into panicked flight, as it cut through the formerly peaceful forest. Barton looked up a second too late, as a human canon ball hit him, rolling with him over the forest ground. He hit his head on a small rock, which might have been one of the reasons he ended up on his back, despite John Robinson being a head smaller and 30 years older than his opponent. Or possibly it was just the desperate rage of a man whose son he had just murdered that really overwhelmed him. But he looked up dazed at the former policeman, who sat on his chest, madly shaking him.

John knew he was yelling, but he had no idea what he was saying. He didn't dare look around, to where Phryne and Jane had scrambled down beside Jack's body.

“Jack!” Jane yelled, shaking her father, who didn't move.

Phryne's desperate fingers opened the tie that was still wrapped around her Inspector's neck, trembling hands searching for something, anything that would prove that he wasn't dead. He couldn't be! They were about to get married, spend the rest of their lives together. She didn't want to imagine a life without Jack Robinson in it. Tears threatened to blind her, but her fingers were still anxiously searching his neck, where angry bruises were already forming. There! Her trembling fingertips returned to the point where she had imagined a tiny beat.

They found it a second later. Tiny heartbeats, steadily pulsing under her fingertips. Phryne didn't know if to laugh or cry. She looked up to Jane who understood and burst into tears. The world started again. The colours flooded back. The sound followed.

“If you have killed my son, I will make the remainder of your life hell!” she heard John scream, still having Barton by the collar.

“John!” Phryne yelled, without turning. “John!”

She realised somewhere in the haze, that they weren't on first name basis. But it wasn't the time for politeness, not right now. Phryne turned to see that her father-in-law had stopped shaking the dazed killer, and was looking at her through glazed eyes.

“He's alive,” she whispered, watching the tears form on John's face. Out of the corner of her eye, the lady detective noticed movement. The woman was at present fishing the discarded pistol from the floor. Phryne's hand slipped into her handbag easily, before she jumped to her feet.   
“If I was you, I would leave that exactly where it it,” she growled, extending the golden pistol towards a head of strawberry blonde curls.

Madelyn Spencer returned to an upright position without the weapon. Something about Miss Fisher's face told her that she was lucky if she did not end up being shot today.

“You killed your own sister to get her husband?” Phryne spat, shaking with rage.

John had turned his head too, watching the two women breathlessly. Barton seemed to have withdrawn into another world.

“We are in love,” Madelyn whispered, paling.

“And I suspect you were in love with the money, too? It was quite clever actually. You 'died', then went to Sydney to take out a life insurance under your sister's name and returned to kill her, while your lover made sure he had a watertight alibi out there. And she walked right into your trap, because she trusted you.”

Miss Spencer stared at the floor.

“Joseph's business was in trouble. I wanted to help him.”

“With a murder?”

Phryne turned to look at Jane, who had not left Jack's side, watching the conversation conversation unfold kneeling on the moss. But it hadn't been her, who had spoken. The scratchy, hoarse voice belonged to Jack Robinson. At present he pulled himself to a sitting position, briefly pressing Jane's hand as he did so.   
“I have seen a lot in my career,” he said, getting to his feet and stepping closer to the women, “and I heard many stupid excuses. But this must be about the most cold-blooded tale so far.”

He was angry. _Really_ angry. But the Inspector also looked like he was about to topple over and Jane held his arm to stop him from doing just that. John took his cue to haul the still rather confused looking Joseph Barton to his feet, while Phryne picked up the second pistol from the floor, storing it in her handbag. In a strange little procession they made their way back to Wombat Hall.

 

X

 

Miss Fisher sighed wearily, kicking her shoes under the bed and crawled fully dressed underneath the covers. Jack woke from his restless dozing, when his lover snuggled up to him, wrapping her arms around him as if she never intended to let go again. In fact, Phryne was seriously considering that thought.

He gently stroked her hair, once she had bedded her head on his chest, listening to his reassuringly beating heart.

“If I ask you to never do this again, would it change anything?” she finally asked.

Jack pondered this for a moment without opening his eyes.

“I probably would feel guilty the next time someone tries to strangle me,” he answered smiling.

There was silence, while Phryne's head was lifted by his lungs filling with air. It was the most calming motion in the world.

“You frightened the living daylight out of me,” she admitted quietly. He didn't answer for a long moment and she was almost convinced that he had drifted back to sleep, when he suddenly wrapped tighter around her, entwining their limbs.

“My apologies, Miss Fisher. That was truly not my intention.”

Any cheekiness in his words was belied by the way he held her. He had been scared out of his mind too, she realised. Outside a bird called for it's mate. The lovers inside lay in silence, her head on his chest, his heartbeat still drumming a beautiful melody.

“Did they confess?” Jack asked after some time.

“They did,” Phryne murmured. “They had been planning this for months, after finding out about the legend and the hidden passageway. Miss Spencer orchestrated everything from Samuel's affair to Mrs. Barton contacting your father.”

“How did they convince Abigail Barton to get involved into plotting her own murder?”

“They didn't. Mrs. Barton was really hoping to reconcile her beloved nurse with her estranged family,” Phryne yawned. “And her sister encouraged her, fitting it snugly into the plan to kill her.”

“A very strange plan,” Jack pointed out sleepily. “I am still pondering why she wore that particular dress. And why she came to Wombat Hall from the south, rather than use the main entrance. They couldn't have exactly asked her to dress up for her murder and sneak through the gardens to make it more convenient to shoot her.”

“Madelyn pretended that she was going to play some swapping trick on their 'lost Uncle'. The girls were fond of those when they were little.”

“Well, it was definitely a swapping trick,” Jack threw in dryly, running his big toe along Phryne's ankle.

Miss Fisher rolled her eyes in mock annoyance before continuing, “of course, Mrs. Barton was rather distraught when she found out about her sister's supposed death, so Madelyn sent her a note. I didn't realise till yesterday in the library, that the hand on that letter is the same as the one we found in the fire place.”

“So that's how you pieced the puzzle together?” Jack asked.

“That and Hector, who had noticed that there was a stranger in his forest. It was rather stupid of Miss Spencer to hide this close, but she didn't want to leave her lover alone.”

“Love turns people into fools, Miss Fisher,” Jack stated, finally opening his eyes and pulling her into a kiss. Phryne smiled into his mouth, before she carried on.

“Those two fools were hoping that Otterson would be discouraged by so many suspects and too much confusion, allowing them to vanish with the money before anyone had figured it out. What they did not count on was you being here, Jack,” Phryne smiled. “But they were silly enough to go ahead with the plan anyway, despite the Detective-Inspector sitting at the table.”   
The Inspector shifted into a more comfortable position, moving his fiancée with him.

“Actually, I merely got myself almost killed. You figured out the crime. So really it was your attendance they didn't count on.”

“Oh, don't lie, Jack,” Phryne teased. “You worked it out at the same time I did. ”

“Sadly I was staring down the barrel of a gun at the time though.”

Phryne bit her lip in dark thought.

“Jane said, Barton was only going to take you hostage. How exactly did that turn into him trying to murder you?”

Jack shrugged underneath her. He realised that he had no urge to tell her that he had barely stopped Joseph Barton from shooting Jane.

“He changed his mind, I guess,” he murmured.

Phryne lifted her head to look at her fiancé. She didn't believe a word, but she could guess well enough what had happened. Jack would protect the people he loved with his life. And she wasn't sure if to thank him or hit him for that.

Miss Fisher nestled against his shoulder, gently trailing her fingertips over the red and blue marks his tie had left behind on the tender skin of his neck. The Inspector flinched, but didn't stop her.

“You know, Jack, I would understand if you didn't feel up for the whole wedding hubbub tomorrow.”

There was silence for a moment, while Phryne watched him looking at her with dark eyes; felt his fingers run lazily trough her hair. She couldn't help but feel overwhelming relief at the fact that the body underneath her was still warm and alive and breathing. It didn't really matter much in comparison, if there was a wedding tomorrow or not. Or if Aunt P. had used her absence to move the wedding venue, for that matter. 

“I can't think of anything I would rather do than marry you, Miss Fisher,” Jack whispered, his voice rough with an equal amount of emotion and strain.

“We had best go ahead with it then,” Phryne smiled, turning and rolling up on her side, before she could burst into tears. Moments later she sensed Jack follow, wrapping around her easily.

“Phryne?” he asked after a while.

“Jack?” she murmured, half asleep.

“I am pretty sure that the bride and groom aren't supposed to sleep in one bed in the night before their wedding,” the Inspector pointed out.

“I'd like to see you try and make me leave you alone tonight,” she grumbled.

Jack grinned into the darkness. Minutes later her soft breathing told him that she had gone to sleep. Closing his eyes, he tried his hardest to follow her into the land of dreams.

 

X

 

“It was close,” Mac said, gently rubbing the tense shoulders of her lover, while she watched her work. “Luckily the lack of blood flow caused him to pass out before his windpipe was crushed. Still, a few more seconds and it might have been fatal.”

Hazel shuddered under her hands, despite the stuffy warmth the day's sun had left behind in the attic.

“But at least his father seems to have been cured of his bad temper by the shock,” the Doctor continued, “I believe he was in Jack's room for almost two hours this afternoon.”

“Nothing like a near-death experience to reconcile,” Hazel stated dryly. “I think we are nearly done here. But I kind of wish Jane would finish it. It is her present after all.”

“I wouldn't be surprised, if she was already asleep,” Mac said. “The poor kid had a rough day.”

“Are they even still going to go ahead with the wedding?” Hazel asked after a moment of thoughtful silence.

“I don't know what their plans are. Phryne vanished right after she knew he was going to be all right to finish off their case. That seems to be a sort of coping mechanism in her. From a medical point of view I don't see why they wouldn't. As long as his shirt collar covers up the bruises,” Mac finished grinning.

“Honestly I can't see Jack calling off his wedding because of something minor like almost dying,” Hazel laughed. “I'm afraid insanity does run in this family.”

“He wont,” a voice from the door said. Jane looked tired, worn and a little pale, but she was smiling. “He told me earlier. So we better get this finished,” she explained, while Hazel made room for her. Mac knew that Jane had spent most of the afternoon at the side of the bed, she herself had banished Jack to. The Inspector had stubbornly tried to insist on heading to the station with the murderous couple, before the Doctor had put her foot down. Finally he had succumbed to getting some rest, while Hugh and Phryne had joined Sergeant Otterson for the interrogations. When Mac had peeked into the guest room an hour later, she had spotted Jane sitting on the duvet at the end of the Inspector's bed, reading a novel to him, while Jack had happily complained that she was taking after her mother. The Doctor had silently closed the door and retreated.

She did the same now, quietly slipping onto a chair opposite the two women who where working feverishly on the last steps. The colour was returning to Jane's cheeks, that the events of the afternoon had drained away and Hazel's eyes twinkled in amusement. She really was beautiful, the Doctor noted, despite being surrounded by the dust of decades. Just then, Hazel glanced up, a smile on her lips, as if she had felt Elizabeth's thoughts turning around her. 

“Why are you two hiding?” Jane asked, casually, without looking up from her work. The breath caught in Mac's throat. She looked at Hazel, who seemed to have frozen mid move.

“What do you mean?” the Doctor asked, realising that she didn't even sound sincere to her own ears.

“Half of them know anyway,” Jane said unmoved, ignoring the question and continuing to polish the piece in her hands.

“It's not that easy,” Hazel pressed out, paling.

A knock at the attic-door ended the conversation. Dorothy Williams slipped in, a tray in hands with four steaming cups and a bowl of biscuits on it.

“Mr. Butler thought, you might want some cocoa while you're working on the secret present.”

Jane looked at Mac, who shrugged. Neither of them had told the butler about their intentions.

“Thank you, that sounds lovely,” Hazel exclaimed, stealing a biscuit.

“Are you feeling better?” Mac enquired, after Dot had handed out the cups and taken a sip of her own. Jane suddenly looked up, slapping a hand in front of her mouth.

“I'm so sorry, Dot. I forgot the peppermint!”

Dorothy laughed.

“I didn't expect you to remember the herbs after you stumbled into the nest of the murderers. And thank you. Maria made me some ginger tea and it did wonders for my stomach.”

As if to prove this, she grabbed herself a biscuit, biting into it with a soft crunch. Comfortable silence settled.

“So, what is that mysterious present then?” Dorothy asked after she had finished.

“This!” Jane answered, proudly extending a piece of jewellery.

“Oh, it's beautiful!” Dot exclaimed, taking it from her hands and inspecting it closer. “Do they know?”

Jane rolled her eyes in mock annoyance and shared a proud grin with Hazel.

 


	36. Valerian

The wedding day dawned with a bright sun shining down from dark blue skies and happy birds in the trees. Neither of these woke the Inspector. What did wake him, was Phryne's lips. And tongue. And other parts of her that he did not have enough space in his brain to identify at this point in time. He groaned, arching his back and Miss Fisher took her cue to intensify her attentions. The Inspector's fingers dug themselves into the sheets, while he tried to hold on and remember that they were surrounded by a house full of family members who given the current situation, might get the wrong idea if he was to scream.

“Phryne,” he panted, hoping to calm her and almost lost his mind a second later when she responded with exactly the opposite reaction. Lust flooded his brain, drowning out any coherent thought. He gave in; let her do whatever she wished to him and Phryne took the opportunity to torture him with an ebb and flow of teasing, until every single one of his muscles trembled with unreleased tension. When with a last gentle nudge, she pushed him over the edge, Jack feared he would lose conciousness for the second time in less than 24 hours. He resurfaced breathlessly from the white explosion in front of his eyes, feeling her arms wrap around him, catching him. It took some time, till he felt able to utter words again.

“Thank you, that was quite a start into the day,” he finally whispered, still giddy and light headed.

“I thought I might take some precautions against the common occurrence of cold feet by drawing your focus to other parts of your body,” Miss Fisher responded with a self satisfied grin.

Jack managed to pry his eyes open to look at his lover – his bride, then reached out his thumb to draw a line along her cheekbone.

“My feet are decidedly warm, Miss Fisher.”

“Glad to hear it, Inspector. But I do fear that we need to head down for breakfast or we will run late on Aunt P.'s precisely crafted schedule.”

Grumbling, Jack peeled himself out of bed and managed to slip into pants and a shirt, before a knock on the door interrupted their morning ritual. Phryne flicked down her skirt from where she had been fastening a stocking and called out for the person to enter. Jack found himself rather relieved when it turned out to be Jane rather than someone who expected him to be fully dressed.

To his surprise, she stood near the door, looking rather shy and he was starting to worry if his state of half dress did bother her after all, when she pulled something from her pocket.

“I wanted to give you my wedding present first, before all the other ones start piling up,” she said with glowing cheeks. Jack stepped beside his bride, who inspected the small piece of jewellery in her daughter's hand. Phryne's excitement turned into worry, when she looked at the golden band between Jane's fingers.

“Is that...?” she swallowed, “Jane... I don't know...”

Searching for help she looked at Jack, who to her astonishment appeared not only speechless but also close to tears.

“I _do_ know,” her daughter smiled, locking her eyes with the Inspector's.

Jack extended his hand, let his daughter lay the simple gold band onto his palm, staring at it in breathless silence.

“Hazel helped me make it,” Jane said proudly. “And Uncle Walter gave me some gold for it; it's from the family mine.”

The Inspector looked up at her with tears glittering in his eyes and she smiled in return.

“It's amazing,” he managed to croak out. Phryne still stared at the scene gobsmacked.

“You really haven't told her, have you?” Jane finally laughed at the two decidedly quiet adults. “I thought you were lying when you said it was a secret.”

She turned to Phryne.

“Jack told me that he really wanted a ring on his finger when you got married, but he felt silly to demand one after you had already gotten his mother's.”

Miss Fisher smiled, then opened a drawer and pulled out the small box that held her own ring, laying it gently beside Jack's. They looked as if they had been made for each other.

“It's perfect, Jane,” she finally said, teary-eyed herself. “It's the most wonderful gift.”

She embraced her daughter tightly.

“Jack?” she whispered towards her groom.

The Inspector seemed to wake up from a dream, finally tearing his eyes from the two rings in his hand. He cleared his throat.

“You know, Jane, I am at a loss to say which one is more precious,” he stated quietly, closing his fingers over the pair. “But I do know that you are an amazing girl and I am excessively proud to have a daughter like you.”

Phryne spotted tears forming in the girl's eyes too now and decided that it was time to end the sentimentalities, before they incurred the wrath of Aunt P.

“We better get ready,” she reminded them.

“True,” Jack said, battling with himself. Was it too early? Too much? Then he threw caution to the wind and hugged his daughter tightly to himself, whispering a heartfelt “Thank you!” to her ear that even Phryne couldn't hear. Miss Fisher had to turn away lest she would ruin her freshly applied Make-up by crying.

“You're welcome,” Jane whispered back. “And I am sorry that I spilled the beans. I'm usually better at keeping quiet.”

“Don't worry, I'll just never tell you a secret again,” Jack teased, winking at his daughter. His sweaty hand was still tightly wrapped around two golden bands that were tying three generations of his family together.

 

X

 

 

Loud laughter greeted the bride and groom when they entered the sunroom where breakfast was set. Nobody had bothered to wait on them today. Neither Jack nor Phryne were bothered by this. They would draw enough attention on themselves later in the day. While the lady detective headed to her chair with a cheerful morning greeting, Jack made a detour towards his cousins.

“Thank you,” he whispered into Hazel's ear, pressing a kiss to her blushing cheek.

“You aren't turning into the next Casanova, are you, Jack?” Olivia exclaimed. “Now that Sam seems to have finally found some sense in that pretty head of his.”

She reached out to ruffle the golden hair of her nephew and the young man looked for the millionths time like he wanted to run for the hills. Yet, there was also a silly grin glued to his face, that was more telling than anyone was willing to explain to him.

“I have no intentions of the kind, Aunt Olivia,” Jack smiled, patting Iris's shoulder before he retreated. She had paid a visit yesterday to his sickbed, mostly scolding him for giving her another heart attack before hugging him so tight, that he had to remind her that he had been already suffocated once that day.

“In fact, I am quite determined to end any form of immoral behaviour once and for all,” he quipped, slipping down in his chair. “At least outside of our bedrooms,” he whispered into Phryne's ear for nobody else to hear.

“How about the dining table? Oh and the rooftop? I also did have some thoughts about the Hispano...” Phryne whispered back, trailing off smiling, when a faint blush started to spread over her Inspector's neckline. The Inspector grinned at her, tilting his head. He was not really opposed to immoral behaviour in the Hispano either. Even though they would probably get caught.

He didn't go further down this track of thought, when he looked up and spotted a new occupant in the chair across the table from him. Miss Rucci smiled shyly at her nephew.

“Welcome to the family, Aunt Sophie,” Jack said. “I do apologize in advance for them.”

His Aunt nodded.

“I'm very sorry, I lied to you. I didn't realise at first...” she trailed off.

“Oh don't worry yourself,” Phryne exclaimed, toasting her with her orange juice. “Everybody fibs sometimes, don't they, Jack?”

The Inspector grinned, locking their eyes.

“You would know, Miss Fisher.”

“And yet, you still want to marry me, Inspector?”

“Not even an insane killer could stop me.”

“Speaking of which,” Uncle Walter boomed from the head of the table, causing them to remember the rest of the table. “I would like to propose a toast to the people, who not only caught the murderers in Wombat Hall, but also made sure that we can celebrate a wedding today instead of a wake.”

An elbow to the ribs told him that Esmeralda felt his little speech lacked a certain amount of tact. Her husband chose to ignore her, continuing grinning broadly.

“To Jane, Phryne and, I can't believe I say this, _you_ John. I hope you gave Barton a good thrashing before Otterson locked him up.”

John Robinson cleared his throat with glowing ears.

“I merely did what was necessary to overwhelm a dangerous criminal, Walter,” he stated calmly locking his glittering eyes with Phryne.

“And then you gave him a good thrashing?” Rupert called in, causing laughter around the table.

“What is a thrashing?” Lizzy's voice sounded, before her mother threw Walter a menacing look the held no real sincerity and explained to her daughter the details of combat.

Neither Miss Fisher nor John said a word, but their eyes did a lot of talking. Jack watched the silent conversation between his father and his bride with some astonishment. He didn't know exactly what had happened while he had been out cold, but Phryne had insisted that John had saved him rather than herself, while John had tried to convince him of the opposite. It was of little consequence to the Inspector. The fact alone that his father had cared enough to abandon his freshly found sister and followed Phryne through the forest on a vague idea that he and Jane might be in danger, caused his stomach to flutter.

A sharp clearing of throat ripped him from his thoughts.

“The hair stylist is due to arrive in ten minutes Phryne, you had better finish your breakfast,” Aunt P. explained in a firm voice.

“Aye, aye ma'am.”

Her niece grinned and gave a mock salute, while she pressed her groom's hand under the table. She didn't have time to tell him that she was starting to feel giddy with excitement. Her hair stylist was due in 10 minutes after all.

 

X

 

It took the stylist an hour to give up trying to form Phryne's stubborn hair into anything but a bob. Miss Fisher felt almost sorry for her but was nevertheless glad, when she left to let Dot enter with the dress.

“Madame Fleuri is an artist,” Phryne exclaimed, looking at the cream coloured folds of silk.

“It is wonderful, Miss,” Dot blushed. “Even the cabbie's think so. I believe Cec was holding it on his lap the whole way up here, so it wouldn't crease or stain or get lost.

“Dear Cec,” Phryne smiled, “I'm feeling a little guilty that I have had hardly time to welcome them yet.”

“I don't believe anyone blames you, Miss. Your groom did almost get murdered the day before the wedding.”

Dot slapped a hand in front of her mouth and blushed for good measure.

“Sorry.”

Jane, who was draped over the bed and had been reading till a moment ago, laughed.

“There is no need to apologise for the truth, Dot,” Phryne stated smiling, holding the dress in front of herself, while she was sized up by the curious eyes of her daughter. “Luckily it stayed at 'almost'.”

“I still don't understand, how Miss Spencer could shoot her own sister,” Dot said, chewing on her lip. “I couldn't even raise a weapon at Nell, and she drives me mad more often than not.”

Miss Fisher stayed quiet for a while, thinking of Janey. She was at a loss as to how Madelyn Spencer could so callously throw away such a precious gift that had been taken from herself way too early.

“I don't know, Dot. Maybe sibling rivalry, mixed with misguided love and greed.”

“I think she was just being incredibly stupid,” Jane cut into their conversation. Both women turned to watch her slam her book shut. “If you have family and they love you, it is pretty daft to kill them,” the girl smiled, climbing off the bed. “And that is a beautiful dress. You should put it on if you intend to get married today.”

Phryne glanced at the clock and realised that her daughter was right. They were running behind Aunt P's schedule yet again. While her maid helped her to get out of her blouse, she listened to her racing heartbeat. Suddenly she felt she had an inkling as to how Dot had felt, when she had almost cancelled the wedding in the pure rush of adrenaline. Luckily, there was still no doubt on Miss Fisher's mind that she did want to marry her Inspector. Hopefully, his feet would stay 'decidedly warm' as well.

 

X

 

Jack's feet were warm. Almost hot in fact. But his fingers were shaking, when he tried to fasten his cuff links. His brother sighed, reaching out to give him a hand.

“You haven't changed at all,” he laughed, ignoring the fact that it was probably inappropriate to remind a groom of his last wedding. Jack smiled at him.

“Actually, I have. Quite a lot, I believe.”

Will looked at him, raising his eyebrows. Then nodded.

“You wouldn't have dared take on a woman like Phryne Fisher twenty years ago,” he smirked and barely escaped a harsh slap against his shoulder.

“But honestly Jack,” he said casually, while straightening his brother's collar, glancing curiously at the bruises showing on his skin, before buttoning it up. “I think you have made a good choice this time. Rosie was nice enough, but I somehow can not see her chase through a forest on heels.”

“Probably not.”

The brother's grinned, then Jack looked into the mirror, going serious, before he grasped for his bowtie. He hesitated a moment too long for Will not to notice, before slipping it over his collar. The realisation that his brother was not made of stone, somewhat relieved Will Robinson.

“Phryne is quite something,” Jack finally smiled, finishing to tie the black piece around his neck.

“Does it hurt?” Will asked, when he watched his brother flinch.

“No, it's fine,” Jack lied.

Will grinned, helping him into his waistcoat.

“Does Miss Fisher know what a terrible liar you are?” he asked nonchalantly.

“She reminds me frequently. I believe it might be one of the things that attracted her to me.”

Jack looked into the mirror once more. He looked presentable, even though the collar couldn't completely hide his nasty bruises. A knock sounded. Mr. Butler entered, smiling a strained smile.

“Your dinner jacket, Sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Butler.”

Jack tried to draw some calming breaths into his lungs, moving his shoulders to get the shirt into a comfortable position. It was getting serious! In two hours he would be a married man again. In the eyes of the whole world, not just some misguided parts of the church. He felt adrenaline rush through his body, causing his stomach to leap.

Will and Mr. Butler shared a knowing look behind his back.

“You will be perfectly fine, Sir,” the servant smiled, helping his Master into the jacket.

“Just keep breathing, Jack,” Will grinned while he slipped the rings into his pocket.

Jack Robinson wanted to protest. Wanted to tell them, that he was fine and also breathing, thank you very much. But when he opened his mouth, nothing would come out. His heart was pounding too hard and too fast. So instead he took their advice and hoped to God that his voice would return in time to utter his vows in front of the world.

 

X

 

“You look amazing,” Hazel said, without turning around, as she applied her lipstick. Mac found herself somewhat relieved. She had been pondering long and hard if a special occasion like Miss Fisher getting married, called for a dress even in the most masculine of female friends, but had in the end come to the conclusion that she didn't want to deny her personality, even for that.

Hazel's eyes, now staring at her reflection in the mirror, gleamed in approval and the Doctor released a breath she had forgotten, she had been holding. Her lover smiled, as if she had read her thoughts, and turned, causing the soft layers of her dress to twirl around her.

“We will make for a handsome couple today,” she beamed, grasping Mac by the lapels of her dinner jacket. The Doctor swallowed.

“You are aware that your whole family is going to be around to judge us?” she reminded her enthusiastic lover. Hazel smiled, without leaning up for a kiss.

“Maybe Jane is right. Why are we hiding?”

Mac was going to point out a whole bunch of reasons, but was rendered speechless by her lover stretching up to kiss her. Instead of protesting, her arms pulled the other woman closer. God, she really wished, she could tell the world about this feeling that had her heart flutter in her chest like a trapped butterfly. The sharp clearing of a throat ripped the lovers from their own world. Mac turned to look at Olivia Morgan – staring at her like she had just caught her with a dirty hand stuck in the cookie jar. There seemed to be icicles growing on the older woman's voice, when she asked: “I assume there is a perfectly sensible explanation for this?”


	37. Roses

Breathless silence had invaded Hazel's room as the three women stared at each other. The tension was so thick, it could have been cut with a knife. Currently, Mac was rather glad however, that Mrs. Morgan did not have one on her person. The look in her eyes was familiar, but it hurt more than it usually did. Because this time it wasn't just about her. It was about Hazel. Mac's heart beat painfully in her chest, while her racing thoughts tried to come up with some sort of damage control.

“Well, Doctor, if there is a good reason why you are kissing my daughter this way, I would really love to hear it,” Olivia spat, locking her arms before her chest. “If not, I would like you to leave _now_.”

“Actually, there is a very good reason, Mrs. Morgan,” Mac said, before she could stop herself. She felt like she might faint of terror, but she just pushed on.

“I seem to have fallen in love with your daughter.”

Olivia's mouth stayed wide open for a moment, before she caught herself.

“How can you dare say such nonsense?!” she pressed out, staring at Hazel, who had stayed silent and seemed to have shrunk back into a little girl in the last five minutes. Mac looked at her lover again, wishing she could wrap her into her arms and make the pain go away. But she could not. Not without making things worse for her. This was her mother after all, and losing one's mother left a huge void one's life. Elizabeth knew that better than anyone.

She briefly tightened her fingers around Hazel's before finally letting go and walking past the angry Nemesis in the door frame, her head held high. Only when she had slammed the door shut behind herself, did Mac dare breath again. The tears however she battled back with resolve. There was no time for them. She needed to get Phryne married and then run back to Melbourne, praying that Hazel would be able to work things out with her family. Mac's heart tightened at the idea that their brief adventure into happiness was over already. She would have been content, she realised with a start, to hide away for the rest of her life. But making her sacrifice her family on the altar of their love was not something Mac was going to ask from Hazel. 'Never', she swore to herself, walking down the hall with her fists angrily shoved into her pockets.

 

X

 

Mother and daughter were still staring at each other in silent defiance.

“How could you?” Olivia asked, close to tears now that the enemy was not listening anymore. “This is going to destroy your life, if you keep going. Don't you understand?”

Hazel seemed to be waking from a dream, when she finally found the gift of speech again.

“No, you don't understand! I've been battling this for 20 years, mother. I am tired of fighting it. I am tired of hiding! I am tired of other people telling me how to be happy. Because I _was_ happy five minutes ago, before you decided to waltz in here and scare the woman away that I love!”

Her voice had rose almost to a scream on the last sentence, drawing another spectator in from the hallway.

“You don't mean that!” Olivia exclaimed, paling.

“I do,” Hazel said, raising her chin.

“What's going on?” Iris's voice asked from where she had stuck her head through the door.

“Your sister here has decided that she loves a woman!” Olivia said, her voice skipping dangerously close to hysteria.

Iris closed the door firmly behind herself, locking eyes with Hazel, who looked like she was about to explode.

“Yes, I know,” she said calmly. Had Hazel not been standing in the middle of the room red faced and trembling with tension, it might have been funny, how their mother's jaw dropped. “And I personally consider the Doctor an incredibly good choice on Hazel's part,” Iris continued, “she is quite a catch you might say.”

A tiny wink accompanied her words towards her sister, who smiled a barely visible smile.

“Have you both gone insane?” Olivia whispered. “How can you encourage this behaviour, Iris?! You of all people need to understand, how important it is to marry a good man!”

“I, mother, understand that my sister is not like me. A tiny little fact, that you seem to have missed,” Iris said coldly, stepping into the room and wrapping a protective arm around Hazel, who was still shaking.

“I will not accept this for my daughter,” Olivia said, standing her ground.

“Well, mother. It isn't your decision,” Iris said, levelly. “Hazel is in love, with a good _woman_. And if you decide to spoil this for her, we are through.”

Olivia opened and closed her mouth, staring at her daughters, who both seemed to have succumbed to madness.

“I can't just accept this,” she repeated.

“Then go!” Hazel said, wrapping her arm around her sister for support. “Because I am not giving her up!”

Speechless, Olivia Morgan turned on her heels, slamming the door shut so forcefully the windows shook in their frames. When Iris glanced at her sister, she was crying.

“Are you all right?” she asked, wiping a tear from Hazel's face.

“No,” the woman admitted, breathlessly. “But thank you.”

They embraced tightly, both panting as if they had just fought a battle. Which in a way, they had.

“She'll come around,” Iris whispered, while she held onto her sister.

“What if she doesn't?” Hazel asked, after she had gotten the sobbing out of her system.

“Then she is much stupider, than I had ever thought,” Iris said, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and handing it to her sister.

“I think it's time you fixed your make-up or your Doctor won't recognise you,” she smiled. “And I believe we are expected at a wedding.”

 

X

 

“I don't think I can ever forgive her,” Sophie said, taking the offered drink from her brother's hands. “It's unbelievable that she would kill Abigail. For this... man nevertheless.” She shook her head, causing her white hair to fly. “Dear God.”

John Robinson sat down in the chair opposite his sister, nervously glancing at his watch.

“I'm sorry, John. It is the your son's wedding day and I keep going on and on about this.”

He smiled.

“Don't be. I have missed talking to you for so many years. What happened must have been a terrible shock for you.”

Sophie smiled thinly, taking a sip from her glass.

“I am quite sure, you mixed alcohol in there, Johnny.”

“I might have. Honestly, I am probably more nervous than the groom,” John laughed.

“You don't think it is the right decision for them to marry?” Sophie asked.

John stayed silent for a moment, slowly swirling the water in his glass in a circle. Then he looked up.

“Actually, I believe Jack is a very clever man to hold on to his Phryne. That woman is quite something. A damn good detective and well off too.”

“Phryne? I see you are embracing your daughter-in-law already,” Sophie grinned. “I do hope it is not about the money though?” Miss Rucci asked, shuddering at the memory of what greed had done to the two girls she had raised. But John shook his head.

“Jack doesn't care for it much, but I will admit that I'm glad he won't have to worry about where his next meal comes from for the rest of his life. My boy has picked a harsh occupation.”

“I am coming to believe, his takes after his father a great deal,” Sophie grinned, raising her glass. The same moment, another woman stormed into the library, pouring herself a drink with trembling hands and knocking it back in one fluent movement. John stared at his sister-in-law astonished.

Sophie rose, gently touching her brother's wrist. He nodded.

After the door had closed behind the woman, he walked over to Olivia, who was currently about to drain her second glass.

“I would ask if you are all right, but I think I know the answer,” he joked, leaning against the bar and taking the decanter from her hands.

“What happened?” he asked, when she just stared at him blankly.

“My daughter has decided that she is a lesbian!” Olivia blurted out, taking the whisky back from his hands and stubbornly pouring herself another drink.

“And you believe that that will change, if you fall over drunk at my son's wedding?” John asked, a little harsher than she had expected.

“You don't think I have a right to drink myself into oblivion when Hazel is content on destroying her life and Iris is supporting her?!”

John retreated, sitting back in his chair, and folding his hands on his lap.

“You do as you seem fit, but I hope you don't mind, if I think you an idiot!”

Olivia stared for a moment down on her glass, then set it down and turned to face him.

“I can't let her destroy her life,” she said. “It's... I've seen what people out there do to them, John! They _won't_ do that to my girl!”

“Right now, _you_ are doing it,” John said calmly. Olivia gasped for air.

“I thought, you would understand,” she said stiffly.

A thin smile appeared on her brother-in-law's face.

“I do. But while you missed the obvious over the last few days, I have learned some things, my dear. I almost lost my son, because I decided I knew better what he needed than he did. And, surprisingly, I was completely and utterly wrong, which was a rather embarrassing lesson really.”

Olivia sank into the armchair opposite of him, her anger deflating. John took her hands between his and looked into her eyes.

“If you had to choose between her daughter being happy or miserable, which one would it be?”

“It's not that easy!” Olivia exclaimed, retreating. John smiled.

“I beg to differ. You have seen it in her eyes, haven't you? Don't lie. You're terrible at lying, it runs in the family.”

His sister-in-law opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“What do I do now?” she asked, after a long moment of silence.

“I would recommend an apology, possibly some grovelling. I can give you some hints on that if you need,” John said happily, draining his drink and getting to his feet. “But not right now, because Jack is getting married in half an hour.”

Olivia Morgan still sat in her armchair, deep in thought, when he turned to the door.

“If you let this wedding go ahead without talking to your daughter, I will not only consider you stupid, but also a coward,” he smiled, getting no answer. “And I would hate to do that.”

Outside John rubbed his palms together and smiled. His work here was done, now it was up to them.

 

X

 

Phryne almost stumbled down the stairs and had to be caught by the ever-caring hands of her companion. Her feet seemed to have forgotten how to walk or possibly it had something to do with the pudding in her knees. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she drew a deep breath into her lungs. She would be just fine. Just wait a few minutes longer, walk out there, say her vows to Jack and then they just had a meal and a dance to get through. She couldn't remember how to dance anymore.

“Miss?” Dot asked.

“Yes, Dot?”

Dorothy smiled, making Phryne suspect that it hadn't been the first time she had attempted to talk to her. Aunt P stormed through the door and Miss Fisher's heart sank. Hopefully nothing had gone wrong. But Mrs. Stanley smiled.

“Everything is going perfectly, Phryne. Vicar Bailey is already outside, your groom has just arrived with his best man. And you look just wonderful.”

She pressed a kiss to her niece's cheek, and Phryne wondered who had replaced her aunt with this very pleasant woman, while Dot dutifully wiped the lipstick off her with her handkerchief.

“I am actually marrying him,” Phryne whispered towards Jane, after her aunt had hurried off to save the world somewhere else.

“I know,” Jane winked, pressing the sweaty hands of the bride. The same moment Mac stepped through the door.

“Are you ready, Phryne?” she asked, a happy smile painted to her pale face. “I believe your groom is getting impatient.”

“Almost,” Phryne said. “Could you leave us alone for a moment, please, girls?”

Dot and Jane shared a look and obediently took the next door, that lead into some stuffy dining room, most people had forgotten about.

“Was there anything you wanted to talk about?” Mac asked her old friend, after watching the girls retreat.

“Yes,” Phryne extended a hand, cupping her friend's face. “What happened to you?”

“I don't know, what you mean,” Mac answered, lowering her eyes in the hope that she wouldn't burst into tears right before her friend's wedding ceremony.

“Mac!” Miss Fisher said impatiently. “I don't have time for your nonsense.”

“I decided that it is better for Hazel and I to go separate ways,” Mac choked out. “Her mother caught us and she just went silent.”

“Oh, Mac.”

The doctor found herself in the tight embrace of a very emotional bride and allowed herself to just hold on for a long moment, fighting back the tears.

“But I don't want to ruin your wedding,” she finally said, struggling free. “So lets just forget about this right now and get you married, all right?”

Phryne didn't get around to answering, as in the same moment, someone stormed down the stairs, the skirt of her dress floating behind her.

“Mac!” Hazel exclaimed. “I couldn't find you anywhere, I almost thought you'd left.”

The way she threw herself into the Doctor's arms told Phryne, that Hazel had no intention at all to go separate ways. And the way Mac caught her, convinced her also, that the resolve was not engrained quite as deeply, as her friend had tried to make her believe.

“Is your mother...?” Mac left the sentence hang in the air, after she had resurfaced from embracing her lover. Hazel shook her head, sending her dark locks flying.

“But don't worry, she will come around,” she parroted Iris's words.

“Are you sure?” Mac whispered, meaning more than Olivia's change of mind. Hazel answered with a firm nod.

“Absolutely!”

She pressed a kiss to Mac's lips and shot a smile at Phryne.

“I'll see you after the ceremony. Good luck.”

Elizabeth looked after her lover with silly smile on her face.

“Dot, Jane! You can stop listening at the door,” Phryne called. “I think we are ready now.”

 


	38. Wild Wine

The guest chattered along with the whispering wind in the trees. A few confused bees hummed through their usual territory, wondering if there was any nectar hidden in the colourful dresses. Uncle Walter was chasing a happily screeching Lizzy around a tree in a very ungentlemanlike manner. Vicar Bailey whispered something with the best man, apparently involving the rings. The only thing Jack Robinson could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears. Once again he glanced at his watch. She was late now. Two minutes to be exact. Jack felt sweat pouring down his back; it was hard to tell if caused by the bright sun or the thoughts invading his brain. Horrible scenarios played in his mind, from Phryne running for the hills already donning her bridal gown to Barton escaping from his cell. The soft breeze loosened a dark red wine leaf from the Inspector's oak, causing it to sail down onto his shoulder. Jack picked it up, twirling it between his fingers, then swept his eyes up the tree. Entangled beyond separation. He straightened his shoulder's, feeling calmness returning to his soul. She would come. Nothing would stop her. He turned, and there she was.

He didn't hear the music either, not the “Ahhs” and “Ohhs” around him regarding the bride, not the cheeky comment of his brother. All he heard was her heels on the grass, the swish of her skirt. All he saw was the silk swirling around her legs, the glittering gems embroidered to her dress, the sun on her black hair, her glowing cheeks and her smile, as she walked down the aisle composed of trees and chairs. Jack forgot to breath - it seemed rather unnecessary. He just needed to look at her, photograph this moment for his memories, for the days when he would be old and grey and wondering what he had had in his life.

Phryne felt like she was floating. The people around her were blurry. Somewhere in the back of her mind it registered with some surprise, who was standing beside Jack and Will. She had known who was to be the best man, but the other two groomsmen Jack had picked, touched and surprised her equally. Hugh looked like he was going to burst with pride, while Mr. Butler's eyes showed the faint idea of tears already. But none of this held her attention. She felt her trembling fingers firmly wrapped around the bunch of sunflowers that Dot had shoved into her hands a minute ago with little ceremony. Phryne had no idea, why it was to be sunflowers. She should probably have asked. But then again, it didn't really matter. All that mattered was Jack, who was staring at her as if she was the 8th wonder of the world. It made her feel like she was in fact a miracle. Every woman should once in her life be looked at like that, Phryne found herself thinking, as she straightened her back and kept walking, a smile creeping on her red lips. The aisle suddenly seemed to stretch into eternity, as she followed Mac down to Jack's oak, where Vicar Bailey was waiting, a big grin spread over his features. He had gotten over the shock of the Archbishop's involvement rather quickly. Of course, the blow had been softened somewhat by the surprising appearance of enough money to fix the mouldering staircase in the tower – and the leaking roof of the Vicarage.

“Breath, Jack,” the groom heard Will whisper and finally remembered to draw some air into his lungs, just as Dot and Jane arrived beside Father Bailey. The priest didn't seem to be bothered in the slightest by the fact that the Maid of Honour wore a dinner jacket rather than a pretty dress. The Lord indeed looked down with mercy on the people willing to spend enough money to fix a dripping roof.

Mac turned, searching the crowd for Hazel's light blue dress. She found her lover seconds later, flanked by Iris and Rupert and smiling proudly. Then a shadow ghosted over the Doctor's face, as she spotted Mrs. Morgan in something bright red, sneaking through the rows of chairs to sit with her daughters. The older woman didn't look over, but Hazel's angry expression softened, after her mother had whispered something into her ear. The daughter nodded lightly, responding with a few words, before locking her eyes with Mac again. The smile returned to her lips and Elizabeth dared to breath a sigh of relief. Things might never be great for them. But they would be all right.

Phryne was oblivious to all of this. Her shaky fingers grasped for Jack's, which to her relief were equally sweaty, accompanied by a tiny smile on both of their lips.

He didn't say anything, but his dark eyes told her in clear language that he thought her breathtaking and Phryne had to resist the urge to reach out and run her finger's over his rough cheek; tell him with her hands what her lips couldn't say. Her heart was aching with love for him in this moment. Their moment.

The crowd went utterly silent. The whispers about the beautiful bride and the handsome groom had trailed off, the last chattering about the mixed bridal party quietened. A magpie somewhere in a tree took the chance to make itself heard and caused some giggles from a tense Esmeralda. She felt almost as if she was getting married herself all over and grabbed for her husband, who wrapped an arm around her shoulder, smiling to himself. He knew his wife well.

Sam witnessed the fond gesture between his parents and glanced at his date. Christine seemed to have forgotten her hurt feelings about his affair, ever since he had cornered her and, with flaming red ears, owned up to the truth in Miss Fisher's words. She looked radiant, he found, and couldn't help himself. He extended two fingers and gently brush it over her hand. Christine looked up for a second, questions in her eyes and Sam was almost convinced that he had made a mistake, when she firmly grasped his hand, holding on tightly. Samuel Cox-Stafford had had many adventures involving the other gender in his life. For the first time he felt like he might actually faint. 

When Vicar Bailey finally started the ceremony, Jack found that it was washing over him, mostly unheard. He was lost in Phryne's eyes, which seemed of a brighter shade of blue today than usually. But a part of him registered the beautiful words the priest found for the lovers, who here in front of God and the world, would be united in holy matrimony. Edward Bailey remembered well the day, where the couple in front of him had sat on his kitchen table, desperately clutching on to each other's hands in an attempt to find comfort. His heart burst with pride and a little smugness at being able to prove his Bishop wrong. He had spent half of last night trying to find the right words, despite knowing with a truly loving couple, the ceremony was mostly for the guests.

A teary-eyed Dot sought out her husband past the bride's shoulder. Hugh beamed at her. Their own wedding hadn't been long ago and now they were to be a family. New adventures were awaiting them.

In the middle, also in the anxiety for a completely new adventure, Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson didn't notice any of this. They were completely enthralled in themselves and each other and Vicar Bailey was almost surprised, when Jack picked up on his cue on the first attempt. The vows were simple and spoken with sincerity. The priest didn't miss the tiny wink the bride gave her groom when he reached the part about being united 'for richer or poorer' and neither the cheeky smile playing on the groom's lips. Neither of the spouses swore obedience, Walter had insisted on dropping it and the Vicar hadn't been game to argue, lest the bishop of Canterbury might send him a letter next.

A pair of golden rings were slipped over shaking fingers, signatures drawn by trembling hands and just when the bride and groom turned to share their souls in their first kiss as husband and wife, the wind picked up, showering them in dark red wine leaves.

 

X

 

“Thank you, Aunt P, you worked a miracle,” Phryne laughed, when she pulled Mrs. Stanley into an inappropriately tight hug, noting the faint stains of tears on her Aunt's cheek.

“You're very welcome, my dear,” Prudence said stiffly, unable to hide her sentimentality completely. “I am just glad you have finally settled,” she added for good measure, while Phryne hugged her Cousin who had come all the way from Melbourne for her big day and congratulated her with sincerity. Miss Fisher had no intention to tell her Aunt P, that settling was not exactly her idea of a marriage with Jack. In fact, the main reason, why she had agreed to marry him was because he had never made any attempts to clip her wings. The Inspector hadn't wanted an obedient little wife – just Phryne Fisher. And that was why she was willing to be Phryne Robinson. 

“I still rather think you should have let me walk you down the aisle though,” Mrs. Stanley said, “after all I am the representative of your family in your father's absence”.

“Thank you, Aunt P, but that was not necessary. I did find the way on my own,” Phryne quipped, pressing a kiss to the blushing cheek of the older lady and finally moving on. She really didn't want to have this discussion yet again. She hadn't felt the need, or want for that matter, to be 'given away'. She had given herself to Jack a long time ago and completely without assistance from any members of her family.

“Congratulations,” she heard right beside her ear and found herself in the tight hug of Laura Simmens-Cox-Stafford. It felt a little awkward, considering they hadn't actually shared more than ten words during their stay at Wombat Hall. But Laura looked amazing, Phryne found surprised, and she radiated happiness. Today the petite woman wore a dress in different shades of green, along with sparkling diamonds around her neck and littered through her golden hair, that seemed to have found it's former glory again. Her smiling husband was queuing behind her and he too seemed to have slipped off the cobwebs, filling his tuxedo with pride. So maybe Mrs. Simmens didn't mind having a not-so-boring husband all that much, Phryne pondered with a smile, while she moved on to Esmeralda's arms, which were stronger than they appeared. She had obviously been crying and wasn't ashamed of it in the slightest.

“You look so beautiful,” she whispered into Phryne's ear, while they embraced, “Jack is a very lucky man.”

The words came from the heart and Phryne felt tears pricking again at her own eyes, which became worse, when Walter also gave her a bear hug, welcoming her to the family yet again and calling her his “dear girl”. Sam was next in line, again somewhat to the lady-detective's astonishment and when he whispered a “Thank you, for the truth”, without even trying to touch her inappropriately, Phryne almost lost it. Her eyes sought out Jack's over Dot's shoulder, who was still sobbing. He smiled, gently peeling the maid from himself and handing her over to her husband.

Quickly, before the next person could battle their way through the crowd, he stepped to his bride, taking her hand.

“Right now, I do feel the strong urge to run away with you, Miss Fisher,” he whispered quietly. Phryne grinned.

“I fear it's too late for that, Jack.”

The Inspector didn't get to answer, as his Uncle raised his voice.

“Thank you all, for joining us today for this very happy occasion and congratulations again to Jack and Phryne. But, as my brother-in-law has reminded me yesterday, the wedding is not all we are celebrating today.”

The guests looked at each other in confusion, wondering if they had missed some anniversary. Uncle Walter grinned.

“As most of you are probably aware, the trees that are surrounding you, do have a history. The Cox-Staffords have a tradition of planting a tree for every one of their children when it it born. And while it might be a little late to do that for your birth, dear Jane, you are from this day on officially a member of our family and therefore, John insisted you deserved your own tree. And I am, in this matter at least, only to happy to agree with him.”

Walter raised his glass to the blushing John Robinson, waking in Jack the suspicion that his father had not intended to be mentioned in this speech. A second later Jane threw herself with glowing cheeks around her 'grumps' neck and people applauded laughing. Jack locked eyes with John over his daughter's head, while his lips formed a silent “Thank you”. The girl moved on to squeeze the air out of a proud Uncle Walter's lungs, while his gardener brought a tree sapling out into the open.

“I thought something hardy with bright flowers would be perfect for you,” the Master of the House intoned, pointing at the young wattle. “Withstanding the storms of life and brightening ours with it's presence.”

Phryne pulled her glowing daughter into a sideway-hug, while they watched the tree being planted near the oak, a sneaky tear running down her cheek. Jack wrapped his arms round both his women, realising with a start that he had an actual, official family now. He glanced at the gold band wrapped around his ring finger, glittering in the sun. A symbol for his marriage with Phryne and for his fatherhood to Jane. He was sure that if he had been any more happy or proud, his chest might have exploded.

But there was no time for this. A late lunch had been set and the guests collected under the pear trees to eat, drink and be merry. Speeches were held and turned out not quite as boring as expected. Phryne took the chance to glance at Mac, whose table card Dot had earlier sneaked beside Hazel's, trapping the Doctor now between Iris and her sister. The bride had been slightly worried about her decision, once she had heard of the morning's events. Especially considering that Jack's beloved cousin had stumbled over her prejudices in the past. But, Iris was as good as her word – it had been worry that had driven her to reject Miss Fisher rather than morals and while it was obvious that she knew Mac's connection with her sister, she made every attempt to get into conversation with the Redhead. Olivia Morgan glanced at the three women with some distrust, but she didn't make a scene, which at this point in time seemed about as much as could be asked from her. Her table partner John had done his best to keep her mind occupied, but was now tapping against his glass, rising to his feet. He looked rather embarrassed, when eyes turned towards him.

“Jack, Phryne, Guests” he began, then stopped, seemingly searching for words, “My son Will gave me quite the speech the other day, telling me that I was an old grump and that the pride I feel for my children really wasn't very obvious,” he smiled. “I think it is time to set him straight. I _am_ an old grump and I have no intentions to change. But I _am_ proud of all my three children. My daughter Amanda sadly can't be with us tonight, but over there sits William.”

He raised his glass toasting to them. “I am very proud of you, Son and I really can't think of a single reason why I wouldn't be. You are great at what you do, you have married a lovely woman and you fathered a beautiful daughter.”

Whispers rose around the table, while John's eyes sought out Jack.

“But of course today, the focus is on Jack, my eldest, who is also great at his job. Sometimes I am worried about how good he is, since he seems to be more in the papers than at home.”

John made a slight break while people laughed. Jack was holding his breath, part of him fearing the words that might come. A habit engrained in many years of arguments and disappointment.

“And today, Son, you have married a lovely woman and gained a beautiful daughter. I couldn't be any prouder if I tried. And if your mother was here, she would call me an old fool right now or cry. Possibly both.”

More laughter followed, while John raised his glass with a twinkle in his eyes.

“But she would be just as proud and wish you just as much happiness.”

He toasted the couple with his glass and Phryne didn't have to look over to know that there were tears glittering in Jack's eyes.

 


	39. Oak

The afternoon floated by in a haze of laughter and champagne. Phryne realised, that the only way she could have been any happier was, if she had actually managed to spend some time with Jack alone. But there seemed always someone wanting to talk with them or toast to them and they couldn't seem to find a quiet moment to themselves. And while Phryne couldn't spot anyone in the garden that she actually disliked and quite a few people, who she dearly loved, she really longed for some time alone with her husband. The thought caused quite a start to her and she glanced at Jack, who stood with Iris, Rupert and Cec and laughed at someone's joke, while draining yet another glass of wine. Her husband.

Phryne turned the thought in her head to have a closer look at it. Her heart fluttered involuntarily in her chest. It was still a strange idea that she was married and had a husband. Then again, he hadn't changed in the slightest. If anything, he looked more relaxed, a little more cheerful than he had before. As if the knowledge that she had said 'yes' to him in front of the world made their relationship more real. Of course, she had also wiped some shame from his old-fashioned mind, she knew. He wasn't a divorced man anymore. Not a live-in-lover, no undefined houseguest of the Honourable Phryne Fisher. Now he was her husband.

Jack wouldn't ever have admitted that any of this had bothered him. He loved her enough to live with her in sin. And she loved him enough to marry him. In sudden resolve, Phryne got to her feet, excusing herself politely from Hugh's and Bert's company and walked over to her Inspector, grabbing his hand.

“Would you excuse us for a second, please?”

She smiled her sweetest smile and pulled Jack away from the guest and around the corner of the Hall, before he had had a chance to protest.

“Phryne? Has anything happened?”

Instead of receiving an answer, Jack found himself being pushed against his tree and kissed passionately. When his wife retreated, he blinked, regaining his thoughts.

“What was that all about?” he asked, smilingly playing with a lock of her black hair.

“I just had a realisation,” Phryne said, her red lips curling into a grin.

“And what was that, Miss Fisher?”

She tilted her head while his hand lingered in her hair.

“That I am your wife now and as such I have a right to spend some time with you.”

Jack smiled, gently guiding her in for another kiss. This one was tender and full of longing.

“If however, you keep kissing me like that, dear husband, I will have to abandon our guests and ravish you,” Phryne smiled under half-closed lids. Jack only smiled. They were both well aware that in the current situation such an adventure would be way too dangerous.

A thoughtful fingertip trailed over the sapphires wrapped around the brides neck, woven through strains of platinum.

“I seem to remember this piece,” Jack smiled.

“Oh, this old thing. A present from a former lover,” Phryne quipped.

“Is it? What did you do to him then?”

“I married him, of course,” Miss Fisher grinned. “It did make for a beautiful version of 'something blue', though.”

“You also make for a very beautiful version of a bride, Miss Fisher,” Jack whispered beside her ear, gently nibbling on her neck.

“Phryne!” a voice called out. Jack retreated, rolling his eyes, while Aunt P stormed around the corner.

“There you are. It is really inappropriate that you would hide at your own wedding.”

“I am not, Aunt P. I am merely having a word with my husband, away from the guests,” her niece answered sweetly. “But I assume that is not why you were looking for us?”

“It is time for the Waltz.”

“Is it?”

Phryne sighed, glancing at Jack's watch. She loved dancing, but waltzing, while a whole room or rather garden full of people watched her every misstep was not her idea of fun. Especially not with a head full of champagne and heels higher than was particularly helpful in areas covered in soft grass.

“We shall be over in a moment,” she heard Jack say firmly and Mrs. Stanley took her cue to leave.

“So, where did we stop?” he whispered.

“At waltzing,” Phryne smiled, slipping her fingers over his lapels and pulling him into another kiss.

“We better go,” Jack said, regret colouring his voice. Phryne took a step backwards aiming for an appropriate distance and stretched out her hand.

“Oh, don't pull a face like that, Jack. It's the happiest day in our lives,” she grinned.

“It will be tonight,” he said under his breath, then cleared his throat and took her hand. In fact, he was just grumbling for good measure. While yes, he would have loved to retreat with his bride to a more private setting, his heart was still light with joy. And he truly embraced the time with their friends and families. It was nice not having to worry about what they would make of their relationship.

But mostly he just loved thinking of Phryne as his wife. It was something he hadn't dared even consider a year ago, when he had struggled with allowing himself to love her. It had been way, way too late by the time of course, but Jack Robinson was a stubborn man. He had been convinced with absolute certainty that she would break his already bruised heart if he granted himself the slightest of hopes. When he had been unable to deny his feelings any longer, she had, to his endless wonder and astonishment, taken the fragile piece between her hands gently, like a hurt butterfly and had nurtured it back to health. It never ceased to amaze him, that he was able to wake up beside her, that whenever he hurt, her hands were there to catch him and that he was allowed to hold her when she had one of her rare moments of weakness. It was breathtaking and surreal and still, there had so much nearness grown between them - as if they were really an oak with a vine wrapped firmly around it. It wasn't about passion, although she still caused his knees to weaken whenever she touched him. Despite them being so different, despite her driving him up the walls sometimes, he felt like he had finally come home in her aquamarine coloured walls as well as in her white arms. And the ring on his finger told him, that he was allowed to stay. There was no expressing the feelings crowding his heart today and no Waltz would be able to spoil that, even if he should stumble over his feet and rip Phryne's dress in the progress.

“Jack?” a gentle voice, accompanied by a nudge to his ribs, asked. He looked up into the blue eyes of his bride and cleared his throat. She didn't enquire where he had been off to, despite of course being curious. She was Phryne Fisher after all; even though her name may have changed, she hadn't.

“Sorry,” he whispered, realising that there was a glass in his hand that he couldn't remember arriving there. The small part of him that was always watching the outside world, let him know that Uncle Walter had pushed it there, remembering his own Wedding Waltz all too vividly. Phryne was currently draining her own champagne. Then, to the amusement of guests, she peeled her heels of her feet, kicking them aside.

“Very ladylike, Miss Fisher,” Jack whispered grinning, while he wrapped his arm around her back.

“It would be even less ladylike if I'd fall over my feet and rip my bridal gown,” she whispered back, her red lips curled into a smile, as the first notes floated through the afternoon. Phryne felt a little light headed at this stage, if due to the champagne or Jack's nearness or simply the amount of happiness coursing through her veins, she couldn't have said. The spectators turned into blurry blotches of colours, as she turned in her Inspector's arms, cool, soft grass under her feet, hoping somewhere in the back of her mind, that no unfortunate bee would choose this very moment to sit there. It suddenly didn't feel scary or annoying at all. More like her life in general, a little danger, a little champagne and a lot of Jack. Just the way she liked it. The music trailed off, before other people joined them. A hand touched Phryne's shoulder, while she was still staring at Jack as if in trance. She looked up to see John Robinson beside them.

“I believe, I have a right to dance with my new daughter,” the old man smiled, while Jack reluctantly let go of his wife.

“You better don't step on her toes, Father,” he warned jokingly, which caused his father to raise a warning finger.

“I have swayed with your mother when you were still screaming in your crib, my Son and I will bring your bride back to you in one piece.”

He grinned and Phryne felt oddly touched by the old man's joking, while she grasped his hand.

They turned for a little while in silence, before she realised, why he had wanted to dance with her.

“I feel I need to thank you,” he said, while they danced past where Jane and Lizzy twirled in utter harmony, if completely out of rhythm.

“We had a deal,” Phryne smiled. “I merely kept my end.”

“I believe finding my lost sister was not part of it,” John said.

Phryne shrugged lightly, thinking of Janey. She was never far from her mind, especially not on days like today.

“I'm glad that you have reunited” she said, feeling her father-in-law's grip tightened slightly, as if he had read her thoughts and was trying to comfort her. She attempted a thin smile. “She seems lovely.”

“In difference to her brother, you mean?” John joked, going serious. “I know I have been quite a pain. And you were more than generous with me, I must admit.”

He smiled, as they again turned past the two girls.

“And your quick wit also saved my boy, yet again. I can never repay you for that, even if I had your financial means.”

Phryne looked at the old man, once again noticing the resemblance his eyes had to Jack's.

“Don't be silly,” she laughed, and added, “God knows how the drama in the forest had ended if you hadn't been there.” Phryne thought of the split second she had frozen in terror at the idea of having arrived too late. Before he could open his mouth, doubtlessly to defy her kindness, she continued, “but it doesn't matter, who saved him, John. He is all right.”

She glanced at Jack who was currently dancing with Esmeralda, unconsciously smiling to herself.

John watched his dancing partner, who had obviously had drifted off into other spheres, while their feet kept moving over the grass. He stayed silent, glad for her having stopped him from expressing what was on his mind. That this brief moment of weakness he had witnessed in this strong, reckless woman had impressed him even more than her clever mind. His daughter-in-law wasn't used to being anything but invincible to anyone, save possibly his son and John had no desire to rub her nose into having caught a glimpse behind the facade. But nevertheless the things he had seen filled him with deep satisfaction. She would take care of Jack. And what else could he have asked for?

 

X

 

Away from the dance floor, in the shadow of a pear tree sat Mr. Butler, sipping on a glass of white wine. He was enjoying himself – somewhat. A big part of him was relieved that Miss Fisher and her Inspector had finally tied the knot with no murders having managed to stop them. An even bigger part was touched by Jack Robinson having asked him to stand by his side today. That of course was unusual for a servant, but Mr. Butler had taken the Honour upon himself with the appropriate pride. It also had been a beautiful experience to witness the love in the spouse's eyes as they had promised each other the rest of their lives. And yet... there was melancholy in Mr. Butler's heart. He missed his wife today, he realised, but he also missed Riya. His wife, who he had spent so many years with was never really far from him, almost as if she had grown into his heart and stayed alive in there. Yet, his time with Riya had woken something in him that he had believed to have long since forgotten. And today, witnessing so much romance and happiness, he ached with longing. Maybe he had made the wrong decision, he wondered miserably, watching Dorothy dancing with her husband. But then, he knew he hadn't. The girl held one of the spaces in his heart that he imagined he would have reserved for his children, had they ever been blessed. And he would not leave her alone at this stage in her life and neither his Mistress, who didn't know anything yet about the challenges that met a newlywed. Then again, she and her Inspector had probably worked those things out already. He was just being old fashioned. Mr. Butler sighed, draining his glass.

“Would you care to dance?” a voice asked behind him. Tobias froze. He was imagining things, he was certain. But when he finally did turn, it was her, standing in front of him in a silvery something that was probably supposed to be a dress. Riya Santi looked unusually embarrassed, as she waited for his answer, as if she actually expected a rejection. Tobias Butler finally managed to close his mouth and without a word offered her his arm. They joined the turning couples on the grass.

“What do I owe this pleasure to?” Mr. B finally asked wearily, after having watched his thoughts turn in circles along with the dancer's for a while. Riya bit her lip.

“You were right, Tobias. There is no point in wasting perfectly good time.”

He cleared his throat.

“Does that mean, you will stay until you have to leave for India?”

She shook her head, completely confusing him.

“That means that I am an idiot, Tobias.”

He answered this with a wry smile, keeping her tightly in his arms.

“I was on the ship already,” she finally admitted, tilting her head. “In fact, I fear most of my wardrobe is on it's way to Madras right now. Then I realised, that I am running away from something great for no good reason and with very unfair methods. So I came to apologize.”

“I do hope you didn't swim to the shore,” Tobias joked, hiding the sentimentality taking over his heart. She laughed.

“We had not left the harbour yet, so nothing quite as adventurous.”

Silence settled between them, while two hearts beat in a wild rhythm with the music.

“So where do we head from here?” Mr. Butler finally asked. Riya shrugged.

“I do not know. Let's be realistic, Tobias. We have both been widowed. Nothing lasts for eternity. But I have good people in India and my estate in Britain will just crumble further into dust under the caring hands of my housekeeper.”

“And you?” he asked, holding his breath.

“I am here to enjoy many more sunsets with you. If you accept my apology.”

Mr. B realised that there were plenty of people surrounding them, including his Mistress and Master and that his position really didn't allow for liberties like this. He couldn't have cared any less, had he tried, when he leaned down and kissed his lover.

 

 

X

 

Maria had outdone herself with the wedding cake and Phryne and Jack tried their best to destroy her masterpiece as efficiently as possible. The Inspector did raise his eyebrows at his wife when he noticed the filling, remembering a certain night on a roof top. He had fibbed his way through the story of their engagement on numerous occasions during the day and raspberries had not played a role in any of the stories he had made up. But the memories of sharing the little red fruits with Phryne caused him to tremble in anticipation of their wedding night. There might even be a chance of stealing some cake, he considered, smiling.

But then he was drawn into another conversation, this time with Bert, who seemed to have forgotten all about his dislike of the copper or at least having buried the hatchet for the day. Phryne watched a laughing Hazel feeding cake to Mac, realising that Olivia Morgan was standing close by and even she could not help herself to smile a thin smile at the scene. Casually Phryne wandered over to her friend.

“I believe your lover's mother is slowly thawing out,” she whispered to the Doctor.

“I doubt that,” Mac smiled grimly, draining her glass while they watched Hazel wander over to the older woman, offering her some cake. “But it's all right. She seems to have made up with Hazel; that is all that really matters to me. I never expected to be welcomed with open arms.”

“I am truly sorry that things are so hard for the both of you,” Phryne said after a pause.

Mac shrugged.

“It's just the way it is. Call me delusional, Phryne, but I do harbour the strange hope that someday, maybe in a few decades or centuries even, people will understand that we aren't all that special. It's just love. Until then, we will just have to deal.”

She smiled wryly and refilled her glass. Phryne wrapped her arm around her friend, watching the dancer's.

“I believe, you should ask your sweetheart to dance,” she finally pointed out. “It is my wedding after all.”

Mac smiled.

“I will consider it.”

“Please do,” Phryne answered. She kept her friend company, until she had come to a decision.

 


	40. Sunflowers

“Did you see Aunt P's face when Mac and Hazel danced together?” Phryne laughed, while Jack tried to fumble the key into the door. Jack grinned to himself. He hardly ever yet had seen Miss Fisher tipsy and he found it quite amusing.

“I have, Miss Fisher. I believe it caused a little bit of a stir in our guests.”

“Oh, they need to get over themselves,” Phryne giggled. “And you are required to stop calling me Miss Fisher, now that I am a married woman, Inspector.”

Jack gently pushed the door to the quiet villa open, before turning to answer her.

“I will never stop calling you Miss Fisher,” he grinned, only half joking. She stepped closer, grasping his lapels and looking up at him with big eyes, dark in the moonlight.

“That is very rude of you,” she whispered.

“Yes, it is,” he smiled, then slipped his arms around her and picked her up, before she could utter a word of protest. He had forgotten how heavy the slim frame of the lady detective was, he realised a second too late. It didn't help that she was writhing in his arms, demanding to be put down while still giggling and he briefly shut her up by closing her mouth with a kiss.

“This, Miss Fisher, we will do my way,” he said, his eyebrows raised. She nodded, giving in to be carried over the doorstep and then up the stairs while pointing out further amusing events of the evening, currently circling about Riya's sudden appearance. Jack was panting heavily by the time they arrived at their bedroom and he threw his bride onto the crisp sheets with little elegance.

“And now, Inspector Robinson?” she asked, pulling herself up onto her elbow. As Jack looked down at her, poured onto the bed in her gorgeous wedding gown that hugged every single one of her curves, with flushed cheeks and dark eyes, he couldn't help his heart speeding up. She may be drunk and giggly like a schoolgirl, but she was still Phryne. Mrs. Robinson watched her husband hesitate and stretched out a hand for him to join her. He obeyed, crawling onto the covers with her.

“What now, Jack?” she repeated, gently starting to undo his bowtie, which turned out to be a lot harder than it usually was.

“I believe it is tradition for the husband to introduce his wife to the practice of intimacy so they can consummate the marriage,” Jack grinned.

Phryne seemed to ponder this for a moment.

“I seem to remember that it is also tradition for the woman to pretend to enjoy this before getting into the family way as fast as possible and avoid any form of intimacy for the rest of their married lives.”

“As it turns out, I am not a stickler for traditions,” Jack stated dryly, his face now dangerously close to hers. They kissed, gently. When Jack pulled back, opening his lashes, the picture of innocence looked up at him.

“So, no consummation, Jack?”

He shook his head slowly, with a silly grin on his face, trailing a finger along her naked arm.

“I might go to sleep then,” Phryne quipped, attempting to turn around.

“Don't you dare,” Jack growled, still grinning, while grasping her and pulling her tightly against himself.

“Certain parts of your body seem to insist on the consummation after all, Inspector,” she pointed out after a long moment of silent stand off. Jack ignored her cheeky comment and leaned in to trail gentle bites down her neck to her collar bone. Forgetting to be silly, Phryne closed her eyes.

“It seems, certain parts of your body agree, Miss Fisher,” he mumbled into her shoulder, sliding his hand over her chest. Phryne writhed under his touch, moaning.

“It appears, we might have to go through with it then, Inspector,” she whispered, without opening her eyes.

“It is our duty after all,” Jack stated smiling, letting his fingers trail further. Phryne didn't answer but her heavy breathing, as his hand found it's way under her dress caused her husband to believe that she had succumbed into her marital commitments.

He pulled her closer, being side tracked by the warm heartbeat underneath his fingertips and retrieved his wandering hand to gently brush a lock from her cheek. Phryne opened her eyes, sensing a sudden shift of mood.

“Then again, I believe I'd rather make love to my wife tonight, than consummate anything,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes dark and tender. Phryne's red lips pulled into a smile, while she ran her palm over the slight stubble of his cheek, the marks on his neck, lingered on his chest, where his heart was pounding against his ribs. For a long moment they lay in silence, feeling each other's heartbeat and listening to their own in their ears. Her's was a little faster than his, but together it turned into a melody. 

'I love you', Phryne thought loudly, while her lips stayed silent. Jack smiled a tiny smile and wrapped his second hand over hers. He had heard it. There were no words necessary as they kissed, none as they started to undress each other with the gentle dedication of two lovers, who had all the time in the world, but too much champagne fogging up their senses to give this motion any resemblance of elegance. None, when he returned to caressing her shoulder, pulling her naked body against his own in an attempt to crawl under her skin. None, when she slowly, deliberately drove him to the brink or snuggled up to him, tenderly kissing his back, while she waited for him to catch his breath. None, when he returned the favour \- and then the one from the morning. There was a decided lack of words in their wedding night; their foreplay had lasted years after all. While their lips were quiet, their bodies did plenty of talking. The void was filled with an abundance of moaning, panting and the occasional scream of ecstasy. But most of all, with love. By the time the grey morning light glanced curiously through the window, it found two lovers, exhausted, but sated on the bed and drifting off to sleep, entangled in every way possible.

 

X

 

Phryne was woken by a pair of lips gently kissing her neck. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Robinson,” Jack whispered, when he sensed her stirring. Phryne smiled without opening her eyes, snuggling into the warm chest in her back, while he pulled the covers tighter around them.

“Actually, good afternoon, Mrs. Robinson,” Jack corrected himself after a moment, glancing at his watch, currently his only piece of dress.

Grumbling, Phryne turned in his arms, careful not to leave her comfortable spot.

“What time is it?”

“Quarter past one. I fear, we were both thoroughly exhausted,” Jack smiled, gently brushing a lock of black hair aside before leaning down to kiss his wife.

“And if we aren't getting out of bed, we will continue down this path,” Phryne quipped, after he had retreated, gently freeing herself and sitting up.

“What do you propose instead, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked. He truly did not feel like any company other than Phryne today. In fact, the thought of spending some time with her and her alone seemed heavenly after a week filled with family dramas and murder suspects. Phryne yawned.

“Coffee and some fresh air,” she said. Drawing a line along her spine with his fingertips, the Inspector pondered this.

“Fresh air seems to get me into trouble, Miss Fisher. Considering, so does coffee.”

But instead of answering to his teasing remark, Phryne slipped out of bed, slinging her black morning gown around herself and tying it up.

“Don't worry, Jack, there is plenty of trouble waiting in your future,” she winked, noting the slight disappointment displayed on his features and bent down to press a kiss to his lips, before heading downstairs to brew coffee. When her bare feet stepped out into the soft, cool grass, minutes later, she spotted her Inspector sitting at the lake shore in his shirt sleeves, deep in thought. It was probably about the most casual attire she would ever see him in, in semi-public, she realised and somehow the thought that she was allowed to know the rest of him, warmed her inside. Every piece of Jack hidden under those layers of protecting clothes was hers, be it warm skin or dark memories, like the one that seemed to cloud his forehead right now.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she said, startling him, before she slipped down into the grass, handing him a steaming cup. He smiled.

“They weren't worth that much,” he explained, trying to drop the subject, but knowing better. Phryne grinned.

“You know you will tell me eventually, Jack, you might as well just give up now.”

He sighed, surrendering to her interrogation techniques.

“She picked up on the pistol on my kitchen table, didn't she?”

“Iris?” Phryne asked, sipping her coffee.

Jack nodded.

“I've been racking my brain for days, what has given me away. It's the only occurrence I can think of.”

“What happened?” Phryne asked.

Jack sighed, wrapping his arms round his knees.

“It had been a rough day, a young woman shot by her own husband. I realised only when I arrived home, that I never locked up my weapon.”

His wife didn't say anything, just drank her coffee in silence, while the waves splashed against the shore. Phryne listened to Jack's breathing and waited. She knew him well.

“Sometimes life is just painful. And it feels like it will never be good again. It's tempting to hold a pistol in your hands on days like that.”

Phryne felt her throat tighten when, to her surprise, she realised that he was smiling, while his gaze was glued to the calm waters.

“And then something happens, like a woman blocking up a bathroom she really shouldn't be in and everything changes, Miss Fisher.”

He took her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.

“Considering this, we really didn't meet in a very romantic way.” Phryne quipped.

“I believe your first words to me were 'this lavatory is fully occupied',” Jack laughed. “Not quite the sweet whispers I expected from my future wife.

“Fancy you remembering this, Inspector,” Phryne grinned.

He finally turned, his grey eyes dark and his hair still dishevelled.

“I remember many things, Miss Fisher. Mostly you driving me to the brink of insanity.”

“I do try,” she quipped, sipping her beverage, while folding a foot over the other.

“But I also seem to remember coming home at night, realising that I had forgotten all about my darkness, because I was too busy thinking of you,” he admitted, after a long moment of nothing but the sound of autumn.

“I can be rather distracting or so I'm told,” Phryne grinned, weaving her fingers through his. The Inspector pondered if to share what was on his mind, while they sat in comfortable silence.

“I do realise that it is rather inappropriate to bring this up. Today of all times, nevertheless,” Jack said. “But it occurred to me last night that I might have missed the best year of my life, had I pulled the trigger back then.”

Miss Fisher tried to take this in. She didn't like thinking about this in the slightest, but she was his wife and him sharing this so openly was precious, she realised. They really were changing.

“Life is short enough as it is, Jack,” Phryne said, glancing at him. “Don't you dare ever thinking about anything so silly again.”

The Inspector smiled and pulled his wife closer, wrapping his arms around her.

“I don't think that will be necessary, Miss Fisher,” he said. “I am quite content with being alive. _They are not long, the days of wine and roses_ ,” he quoted, while he watched a grey cloud being chased over the sky by the wind. Soon it would be too cool to be outside in their half-dressed state any longer. Autumn was coming. But he wasn't willing to let go just yet.

“You know, there is no need to convince me of your education anymore, Jack. I have already married you,” Phryne grinned against his chest.

“So you have. Do you regret it yet?” he asked jokingly.

“Not in the slightest. Despite you being a terrible show-off,” his wife mumbled. The Inspector pulled a piece of her dressing gown over her leg, that had dropped away in her shuffling, giving her thigh free to the cool wind. His hand met paper. Curiously, he pulled the envelope from her pocket.

“I found it slipped through under the door,” Phryne yawned. “Probably more wedding cards.”

It was addressed to only Jack though and he ripped the serious looking letter open with little ceremony, his eyes flying over the text. With curious eyes, Mrs. Robinson watched creases appear on her husband's forehead.

“Are you going to share the wisdom with me, Jack?” she finally asked, when he stayed quiet.

“It looks like our days of wine and roses are over for the time being,” he said grimly, his hand dropping with the letter. “Fredrik has gotten wind of the Barton-case and concluded that I am healthy enough to report for duty as of the day after tomorrow.”

“He might not know the whole picture,” Phryne said, trailing her fingertips along the dark bruises still decorating her Inspector's neck. “But then again, you do miss the chase.”

“It's only been a day and a half, Miss Fisher,” Jack pointed out, peeling her hands from his aching skin.

“Far too long for us,” she grinned, looking up at him with a broad smile. “And something tells me, our days of wine and _sunflowers_ will never end.”

“I hope you are right, Miss Fisher.”

“I usually am, Jack.”

Jack Robinson threw the letter into the grass and wrapped himself tighter around the precious woman in his arms. She _was_ right. They might have to close a chapter. But their story had only just begun.

 


End file.
